Fog
by Ismira Daugene
Summary: In a world ruled by the elite werewolf upper class, Sherlock Holmes abducts John Watson and takes him as a mate. However there are others interested in John as well.
1. Chapter 1

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 1: Abduction**

"John we need you!" Sarah Sawyer pleaded to her employee as they stood beside the appointment desk. "Don't make me order you."

"That would be blatant abuse of your authority," John smirked as he looked over the chart for his next patient.

"And?"

"And we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" he glanced up at her smiling.

"So you'll do it then? It is for a good cause after all."

"Yes, I know. I was here last year for the event if you recall."

"Thank you, John! You're a lifesaver! After Murray dropped out… well anyway, thanks," she patted his shoulder and moved off to cover her own patients.

John Watson shook his head and let out a sigh. Sarah had promised him last year that he wouldn't have to do this again, but it appeared that she'd forgotten the incident last year involving a table cloth and a candle. It hadn't technically been his fault, but in all honesty it couldn't entirely be said that it _wasn't_ his fault either. Either way, it seemed John would have to brush off his old suit and make an appearance at this year's hospital benefit where all of the generous donors to the hospital would be wined and dined and the doctors and nurses showed their gratitude by being the wait staff.

Tucking the clipboard with the chart and blood work analysis under his arm, John made his way to room 2B where his next patient awaited him as well as to hear the news that he was positive for gonorrhea… this promised to be a wonderful afternoon. John shook his head and opened the door. "Henry…"

**: : : : :**

"Okay, Celia, George, Vicky, Heather, Peter, Mels, and Rick you're all to take orders and bring the food out. Charles, Grahm, Beth, Frank, and Ella, you'll be bussing tables. John, Rachel, Arthur, and Sam will be our sommeliers tonight. Everyone got it? Good! Let's get out there!" Sarah finished her short pep talk and the doctors and nurses who'd volunteered marched off to go about their duties. John noticed that she hadn't given him a very taxing job. A bit of an apology, he supposed, for being forced into this at the last minute. Following Arthur from cardiology, John made his way over to the doors to start taking people's orders for wine.

Three hours and twenty-eight minutes later, John was starting to think that sommeliers had the most difficult job of the lot. Not only was he to bring wine out to tables one through five, but he had to know which wines were available, what dishes they went well with, which were better chilled, not to mention remembering who had ordered what. On top of that he'd already spilled wine on his suit twice – luckily only dribbles onto the black part of his suit – and he'd broken three crystal glasses when he'd tripped over some old codger's cane.

It was getting on towards the end of the night luckily, and John was counting the minutes until he could go home, get out of this ridiculous suit, and take a nice hot shower. Of course, that was right about when the night decided to get even worse. John had just grabbed a chilled merlot, a pinot noir, and a white zin to take out to table three. He was weaving his way across the room, concentrating on his footing through the maze of tables. The low lighting didn't help matters. It was then that a man at table seven backed his chair up and stood all in one fluid movement and completely unaware of John right next to him. The tall dark haired man had a scowl on his face and looked to be leaving, but was stopped abruptly when John collided with him, spilling the wine all over the man's fitted three piece suit. John stood with mouth gaping. The man's fine white shirt was now splotched with purple and if he'd been scowling before, it was nothing to what he was doing right now.

John stumbled backwards a bit. "I'm sorry, sir. Truly, I am!" he attempted to apologize.

"You insolent fool," he growled. "One would think a surgeon, a former army surgeon at that, would have a bit more grace. Apparently not though."

John stumbled back even more at the sound of an actual growl leaving the man's throat. Just his luck… he had to spill wine on one of the werewolf elites! John had a momentary flashback to primary school where they'd learned all about the werewolf elites and their place in society. He could distinctly remember Mrs. Honsey tell them about how the elite had taken their place in London's society centuries ago. Some had even joined the government and had helped to create laws regarding biting humans. Thanks to them, it was illegal for a werewolf to turn a human unless it was heat week and the human was a potential mate, or the human had submitted a detailed application as well as the one thousand pound fee and was accepted by the board after blood and psychiatric tests. There were some humans who desperately wanted to be werewolves because of illness such as epilepsy that the bite could heal. The bite had also been reported to heal certain people of cancer, though that was rare and the cancer had to be in the early stages. Of course some humans wanted to be changed simply because they thought being a werewolf would be a preferable life.

"Sherlock," a low voice from behind the tall dark haired scowling werewolf warned.

The werewolf, Sherlock apparently, stopped growling and straightened as though realizing that he was making a scene. He gave John a once over, sneered then marched away. John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and moved to fetch a broom and a mop for the three broken glasses. However he was held back by the other man who'd spoken. "I hope you don't take offence to my brother, Doctor Watson."  
John turned to see a slightly balding man in a dapper suite. "It was my fault, sir. I probably would've been angry too had someone spilled wine on my nice suit," John attempted a weak smile, wondered how the man knew his name, then remembered he was wearing a nametag.

The man returned the smile, though it was laced with curiosity. "I'll give him your apology then, shall I?"

"Yes please, I truly didn't know he would stand up so suddenly like that."

"Very well then, Doctor Watson. I'll accept your apology on behalf of my brother."

"Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

John walked back to the kitchens, and once in the door turned to lean against the wall next to the cleaning supplies closet. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment. Obviously, someone had it in for him for these kinds of events. This night was just as bad as last year's event. "John? You okay?" Sarah's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yeah, just fine. Had a lovely encounter with a werewolf elite just now though," he opened his eyes to see Sarah standing in front of him, her black dress hugging her slim figure.

"Oh?" her face took on a worried look.

"Nothing to worry about, just spilled wine all over his suit."

"Oh my gosh, John! Was he furious? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes, and no. He was angry to be sure, but I think he was angry before I spilt the wine on him. And no, he didn't hurt me."

"Well that's good at least," her face relaxed a bit. "Hey, it's getting a bit slower now. I can have Rick take over for you if you wanted to head home?"

John pretended to deliberate for a moment before saying, "You know, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Sarah smiled and nodded. "Right, have a good evening then, John. I'll see you Monday."

John nodded and turned to grab his coat from the employee entrance before heading out the back door. He wasn't two steps from the door though before someone was pushing him violently up against the brick wall. The air was pushed from his lungs as he landed and struggled to regain his breath. His front was against the wall, so he couldn't see who had him pinned, but whoever it was, was quite strong. "Such interesting creatures, humans," a familiar voice breathed into his ear.

John sucked in a breath as he realized that it was the werewolf elite he'd spilled wine on. "Look, I'm sorry, really I am," he tried apologizing, but the lycanthrope only shoved him again so the air was pushed from his lungs.

"Most humans are so bland, dull, and easily frightened," he continued as though John hadn't said anything. "But not you… no. You're scared right now, yes, but not as much as you should be. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John struggled to free himself, but the werewolf, Sherlock, just pinned him against the wall even harder, one hand holding John's wrists behind his back, the other pressed in between his shoulder blades to keep him in place. The werewolf's question hit him then. Why did he want to know? How could he know? "What?" he asked still trying to work a hand free.

"I dislike repetition, human. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan! But how did you…?"

"Know? I didn't know, I observed. And once again, you exhibit an unhealthy lack of fear of me."

"I'm sorry that I'm not afraid of you? Is that what you want me to say?" John grumbled, becoming more and more annoyed at this presumptuous werewolf.

"No, of course not," he muttered.

Silence filled the alley for a full minute. The werewolf leaned in close and inhaled deeply right next to John's exposed neck. The former army surgeon shivered and tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go. "So are we just going to stay like this, or what?" John finally asked, annoyance and a bit of anger leaking through in his tone.

"No, I think we'll be going now," Sherlock answered.

"We? We aren't going anywhere together!" John protested vehemently, struggling to free himself.

"You don't think I'm going to let you go home now? Not when you present such an interesting mystery?" Sherlock whispered in his ear.

John shivered again. He could almost hear the smirk in that whisper. "I don't want to hurt you, just let me go now," he replied trying to put some force behind his words, and thinking of how he used to get out of tough holds on the rugby pitch.

Sherlock chuckled a bit before answering. "If you were capable of hurting me, you would have done it before now."

"Not all of us humans are so violently inclined."

"Even still… a human out powering a werewolf? It's unheard of!"

"There's a first time for everything," John growled.

"Not tonight there isn't. I apologise in advance for the mark this will leave, but it's necessary."

"What?" John asked before a sudden sharp pain blossomed along his right temple. He managed to keep consciousness long enough to feel strong arms wrapping around him to prevent him from falling. Then all went black.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay! So new story! I recently held a vote as to what story I would be writing next (the voting material is still up if you would like to see it) and this was one of the winners. I have a few more chapters written out so far and a basic idea of where I want the story to go. Hope you guys like what you voted for!


	2. Chapter 2

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 2: Marked**

John groaned and moved to console his aching head. The fetal position seemed like a good idea. Curling up on his side, John noticed that he wasn't wearing trousers of any kind. In fact, it seemed that he was only wearing a thin t-shirt and pants. Whatever had happened last night must have been interesting. He could remember being at the hospital benefit and Sarah letting him go home early… because of the incident with the werewolf elite.

John sprung up into a seated position, trying to ignore the blinding pain in his right temple. The light was dim in the sparse plain room. In fact the only things in the room were the full size bed he currently laid on, a desk with a chair, and a dresser with a mirror on top. The single window in the room was curtained and had bulletproof glass. He imagined that it would have a sophisticated lock on it as well. "Bloody hell," John cursed as he lifted a hand to press against his temple, which he could feel had been dressed. How hard had the werewolf hit him?

He scooted to the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the cool wood floor, and stood slowly. That werewolf was going to get a piece of his mind. You don't just knock someone out and drag them back to your place. It was all a bit caveman-ish. Standing, John managed to wrap the blanket around himself (his trousers, and other clothing for that matter, were no where to be found in the bedroom) and stumbled towards the door. Outside was a short hallway, one end dead ending in what looked to be a linen closet, the other leading to a set of stairs. John slowly walked down the stairs, one hand holding the blanket securely around his shoulders, the other guiding along the wall (his head was still spinning a bit).

The stairs led down into the flat proper where there was an open space for the living area and a wide doorway led to a kitchen. Two other doors led to what John presumed were another bedroom and a bathroom. The place was a mess, to put it succinctly. Papers, books, newspapers, shoes, boxes, a few articles of clothing, a couple of tennis balls, some tea cups, a cluedo game stabbed to the wall above the mantle, and a dangerous looking harpoon littered the living area. The kitchen was no better. Except that it was littered with beakers, test tubes, and other various experimentation equipment. In fact, John thought he could see a human fingernail under the microscope. It didn't really look like somewhere that a werewolf elite would live. In all of the mess though, John did not see hide nor hair of the mysterious Sherlock. He supposed he could be in the other room, whose door was closed.

This was all a bit surreal. A werewolf had kidnapped him and left him in the upstairs bedroom, whose windows had bars on it he might add, and he couldn't rightly go anywhere because he was missing a few key articles of clothing along with his shoes. However… he eyed the clothing lying about the living area speculatively. The shoes he was sure he could fit into; they'd be large, but he could fit in them. The trousers though… John slipped over to a dark pair of trousers and pulled them off of the back of the chair. They might be a bit tight, and definitely too long, but he thought they would do. Quickly as he could, John pulled on the trousers (definitely tight!) and slipped his feet into a pair of shoes. Grabbing a long wool coat off the rack near the door, John moved to turn the door handle and exit the flat… that was until a low voice stopped him. "And just where do you think you're going dressed like that?"

John stiffened and turned to face the werewolf who'd just emerged from one of the closed doors. His hair was wet and plastered his skull and he was dressed in nothing besides a silky navy blue housecoat tied loosely at the waist. Just showered then. "I'm taking my leave now. I've had about enough of this nonsense," John said with as much sternness as he could muster.

The lycanthrope smirked, but didn't move. "You think so, do you? You think you can just leave? That this is all just a game?"

"Well isn't it? I mean, who goes around kidnapping people nowadays just because they find them interesting?"

"There's a few…" he replied. "Though most are criminals who want a ransom."

"And what are you then?"

"A werewolf who's found a mate."

John's eyes widened and his jaw fell open a bit. "What?" he managed to gasp out once his brain had re-booted.

The man's smirk grew even broader and he slowly sauntered forward. "I spent all of last night thinking about it. Only finalized things just this morning in the shower. You're a puzzle, John Watson, and I intend on keeping you around to figure you out."

"You don't need to make me your mate to do that!" John's voice was an octave higher than normal.

"Oh but I do, because you smell amazing, John. Irresistible, in fact," he grinned before making a point to inhale deeply.

"But… but I'm a bloke!"

The lycanthrope chuckled and continued walking forward. "That you are. Does that matter?"

"Yes! It bloody well does matter! I mean, it's all fine! Blokes being with other blokes… It really is, except for the part where we MATE! Didn't anyone ever teach you basic biology?"

"Our mates don't have to be suitable partners for procreation," the werewolf was now standing directly in front of John. "We can bite anyone and make new werewolves that way. It isn't necessary to our survival to birth them."

"But… Don't I get any say in this?"

"You haven't read the werewolf laws lately have you?"

John shook his head and backed into the door.

"Once a mate is selected, the werewolf has but to mark them. The government has decreed that the mate is then under the control of the werewolf. You would have the same rights as one of us, but you would be mine."

John felt as though a hole had opened up to another dimension inside of him and his stomach along with several other vital organs had been sucked in. This had to be a dream. There was no way that a werewolf would want to mate with him. It was preposterous! "No… I… You can't…."

The werewolf leaned in towards John. He was only a hair's breadth away. "I can, and I will." He inhaled deeply and leisurely let the breath back out against John's neck. "You smell so good, John." His nose touched the side of John's neck, and John found himself leaning his head so the werewolf had more room to do as he pleased. "That's it…" John could hear the smirk. The werewolf buried his nose against John and licked at the sweat that had formed there.

Two hands found their way to John's hips and gently steered him away from the door. John's already dizzy head followed the silent instructions without protest, and he soon found himself backed against the sofa. The werewolf kissed and licked at John's neck the entire time. "Lie down on your front, John," the werewolf directed, pulling away from John's neck.

John turned and the werewolf pulled the long wool coat off of him before he lay down on the sofa. His swirling mess of a head sunk against the Union Jack pillow. John felt the werewolf straddle him and large hands softly ran up and down his back and sides. "What are you doing?" John murmured his muzzy brain not understanding why his subconscious was putting up such a fight.

"Shh… it will all be over in a moment," the werewolf answered as he covered John's smaller body with his own.

The soft licks and gentle nips returned to the back of John's neck and he felt himself relaxing into the soothing touches. His eyes closed and just as he was exhaling a long breath, the werewolf bit down on the nape of his neck. John's eyes flew back open and a choked yell came from his throat. "Get off!" John bucked back against the werewolf, but he held on. John was sure skin had been broken.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the werewolf let go of John's neck and instead wrapped his arms around John and softly shushed him as he lapped at the back of his neck. Shudders raced through John and he suddenly felt very tired. "What – what did you do to me?" he asked.

"I've begun the bonding process. You have been marked as mine. No other werewolf will come near you," the werewolf replied still wrapped around John's body and nuzzling against the back of John's neck.

"How… how did you…?" John searched for the correct word, but his brain was slowly shutting down. Sleep was beckoning.

"Seduce you? Is that what you want to know?"

John gave a soft grunt of affirmation.

The werewolf chuckled a bit. "It was quite easy really. I simply used your own hormones against you."

"How?"

"Hush, you need to sleep now."

"No, I… I…"

"Sleep," the soft whisper held a secondary element to it, something in the timber of his voice that commanded John to obey. And try though he might, it was impossible to ignore. With a soft sigh, John fell into a deep slumber, his body completely boneless in Sherlock's arms. The werewolf smiled, not one of those 'humans-are-so-amusing' smiles; a true one… one he rarely let others see. "Sleep well, my mate, for there are more challenges yet to come," he whispered against the back of John's neck before nosing in against him and drifting to sleep himself.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So since the majority of chapter one was already posted for voting material, I decided to give you guys something new right away. Aren't I nice? lol... but no really. I hope you like it and please review to let me know what you think!

Also, don't expect all of the chapters to come out this fast. I'll probably post another chapter within the next few days, but then we'll have to see after that. I have about five chapters planned so far and that's only just getting into the story. Mind, the chapters are all between 1,500 and 2,000 words, so they're not that long. Either way, ENJOY!


	3. Chapter 3

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 3: Compatibility**

It was much later that evening, around nine thirty, if John's blurry eyes were seeing the clock right, that the former army doctor reached consciousness again. A heavy warmth was covering his entire body and he found it difficult to move. However he managed to turn his head a bit only to receive a sharp ache along the back of his neck and to get a mouthful of dark curls. He spat the curls back out and moved his face so that they wouldn't go back in. The werewolf elite was lying on top of him, pinning him down. His long arms were still wrapped around John, both holding him in place and giving warmth.

John wasn't sure if he was supposed to be comforted or not. On the one hand, the werewolf elite would take care of him. He would want for nothing being this man's mate. On the other hand, life as he knew it was over. There would be no more date nights with Sarah. No more rugby matches in the park with his old army mates. He would be expected to stay with the werewolf and adopt his ways.

Grimacing slightly, John tugged a hand free to rub at the back of his neck. The wolf had definitely broken the skin, and the doctor in him was screaming that it needed to be disinfected. He tried to move and shove the werewolf off of him, but that only resulted in those long arms tightening around John's chest. He grunted in discomfort, but in the next instant he was shivering as the werewolf's cold nose was running along the bite mark. "Hmm, you smell even better now," the werewolf remarked in a groggy deep voice.

"What did you do to me?" John asked shivering again despite the werewolf's warm weight.

"Bonded us," came the nonchalant reply as the dark haired man nuzzled into his mate's neck, licking at the bite mark a little.

"But I thought getting bitten by a werewolf turns you into a werewolf," John remarked, hoping that he was wrong.

The lycanthrope stopped nuzzling and licking to stare down at his mate in confusion. "Yes, of course it does," he finally said.

John's mind went blank for a moment. He was a werewolf now? He was a little behind on the werewolf laws. All he remembered from courses in school was that werewolves were pretty much the upper class. That's why it was so difficult to become one. Even if you were sick and dying, a background check was run and if you were found wanting, then the wolves had no problem letting you die.

"I'm a werewolf," John muttered nonplussed.

"Of course. Werewolves can't very well perform the bonding bite without turning their mate. Our bond will complete with your first transformation in two nights."

John couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Being a werewolf would change his entire life, and not necessarily for the better. Everything he knew was gone even farther than he had originally thought. His job at the hospital would no longer be deemed fit. They would let him go because he'd be "over qualified". The pub he liked to meet his rugby mates at would most likely refuse service giving the excuse that the establishment "wasn't for his kind". The only part of his old life that would stay the same is his family… what little he had left. His parents had died a while back in a car accident leaving only himself and his twin sister, Harriet (Harry). Of whom, he wasn't very close at all. They'd gotten into a fight after their parent's death and Harry had turned to alcohol to solve her problems where John had simply turned into a workaholic.

He felt a bit dizzy and realized that he was starting to hyperventilate. The werewolf noticed and moved off of him to kneel on the floor and cup his face with long pale hands. "John, look at me."

John fought against the command. He didn't want to look at the root of his current situation. His breaths came in short sharp pants and his vision was going spotty. The small doctor voice in the back of his mind was telling him to calm down and breath deeply, but that seemed much too difficult. "John!" the wolf's sharp command broke through and blue eyes turned to stormy ocean eyes. "Listen to me. You need to calm down. Everything will be okay."

The lycanthrope's voice held that same secondary element as the night before compelling John to listen to the commands. It wasn't long after that his breaths slowed back down and his vision cleared. However his chest still felt tight and it wasn't until one of the wolf's thumbs wiped away a tear that he realized he was crying. John tried to turn away, but his face was still being held between those long pale hands. "John," the voice held none of that secondary command element, but John still found himself looking over at the werewolf. Curious blue/green eyes examined him before one hand wiped away the leftover tears and he stood. "This may take more adjustment for you than I thought. We will spend your first transformation here I think, let you imprint on the flat and myself of course."

John scoffed as he sat up and leaned back into the couch. His entire body still felt groggy and slow, but he didn't want to fall back to sleep. He wanted answers. "What gives you the right to just take away my life?" he asked looking up at the man before him.

"The law for one," he grumbled. "And biology for another," he looked at John as though this should be obvious then moved into the kitchen to press the button to boil some water.

"What do you mean?" John asked. While he prided himself on his knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, he knew next to nothing about werewolves. Only what was generally known to the public, like their advanced strength, sense of smell, and sense of hearing.

The werewolf (Sherlock, John reminded himself after a moment) leaned against the table while the water came to a boil. His arms were crossed over his chest and one leg crossed over the other. He still wore the navy silk housecoat, though his hair had dried now into wild unruly black curls. "It is well known that werewolves have in advanced sense of smell. What isn't commonly known is that we can sense hormones. We can even use our own hormones to influence others to a degree. Nothing to the effect of what I did to you earlier though." Here he smirked a little. "That was quite the experience. I've never had that much control before."

"Yes, about that. What the hell were you doing?" John grumbled rubbing a hand over his face.

"We can only influence someone in the way I did you if they are highly compatible with us."

"Compatible? What the hell does that mean?"

Sherlock frowned at this. "If you'd stop interrupting…" he trailed off and John's lips thinned in annoyance, but he didn't say anything. Sherlock continued after a moment. "Those who are compatible are potential mates."

"So I'm not the only one? You could have your pick of others?" Sherlock glared at the blond man again and John threw up his hands. "Sorry! Continue, your highness."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed off from the table. He continued to talk while he put together a tea tray. "For some wolves, they are compatible with a large number of people and can influence them all to a degree. For others, it's only a select few individuals."

"And how many have you had?"

Sherlock glanced over at him again before bringing the tray over. "Only one."

"Besides me?" Sherlock gave him a pointed look, but didn't say anything. "Only me?" John's voice was a little bit higher pitch at this realization.

"Yes," he said quietly as he handed John a saucer with a cup of tea on it.

John's eyes widened and his teacup hung in midair. "Is that unusual?"

"I've never met another like me. Though it isn't common to go around speaking of one's compatibility with others." He took a sip of his own tea after stirring in two spoonfuls of sugar and sitting down on the couch next to John. The tea tray rested on the low table in front of them.

"Is this supposed to make me sympathetic toward you?" John asked not looking over.

"Of course not," Sherlock growled. "You are mine now, John." He didn't say any more than that as though it was a given fact and that there would be no questions about it.

"I think you'll find that I belong to no one, Mr. Holmes," John growled.

"We'll see."

Both men continued to sit calmly next to each other finishing their tea. One sat in a silk housecoat and the other in too-tight pants and loose white v-neck shirt. They made an odd pair, but a pair they were now. The bond had been forged and would be completed in two days time on the night before that of the full moon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** John doesn't like being forced into things... can you tell? /sarcasm

Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in a review. I have more written for this, just want to make sure that there won't be any plot holes later on. Those are always hard to fill. grr...


	4. Chapter 4

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 4: Formalities**

It was the next morning that John woke up to Sherlock staring at him. He'd fallen asleep on the couch after the cup of tea despite his best efforts. The werewolf sat in a chair across from him, staring while sipping at another cup of tea. John groaned as he sat up, his muscles stiff and uncooperative. "Remind me not to sleep on the couch again," he said rubbing the back of his neck.

Sherlock didn't say anything, just continued to stare at him over the top of his mug. "What?" John asked, still stretching.

"My brother called earlier this morning."

"That other man from the dinner?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yes. He pointed out some things that had slipped my mind."

"Like what?"

"That we need to be registered as a bonded pair before your first transformation… among other things." He made a disgruntled face as though the _other things_ his brother had reminded him of weren't worth his time. "Which means that we will be going out today. Your things have already been brought over and put up in your room."

John cast a curious glance back towards the stairway that led to his room. "How…?" he trailed off.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "My brother sent some of his people to bring your things over early this morning."

"Oh."

"Indeed." At this, Sherlock rose from the chair and turned to set the teacup on the table in the kitchen. "I recommend getting dressed because a car will be here in half an hour to pick us up." He started to stalk into his bedroom.

"A car?" John asked, still a little sleepy.

"Yes, more interference from my brother," Sherlock growled before disappearing into his room.

John sat on the couch for a moment before deciding that a half an hour would be enough time to get a shower in before getting dressed, and perhaps disinfect the bite wound on the back of his neck. He grimaced at the thought. It should have been done last night, but he'd fallen back asleep before he was able to do anything. Standing up slowly and stiffly, John made his way into the bathroom.

Fifty-eight minutes later, both men were sitting in the back seat of a sleek black saloon as it pulled up to an official looking government building. John looked up at the tall white marble pillars, admiring the stylized Georgian architecture. Once the car had come to a stop, John exited the car first. Sherlock followed and laid a hand on John's shoulder as he steered the shorter man up the steps and into the building. "I'm not going to run, you know," John grumbled as they walked down the hall.

"I know you won't. However the others here need to be shown to whom you belong." The hand squeezed slightly as he steered them around a corner.

"I don't belong to anyone," John growled.

Sherlock sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I said to whom you are mated?"

"Amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"Approximately."

"Then no."

Sherlock shrugged and continued to steer John through the halls and up a set of stairs until they stood outside an office labeled **Registrar's Office**. Without knocking, Sherlock opened the door and ushered John inside. Deep red, almost crimson, carpet covered the floor stretching between the cream colored walls. The outer office was plain and simple, with several waiting chairs and a mahogany desk behind which sat a young blond woman typing away at a sleek silver computer. "Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly looking up from the monitor.

"I have an appointment," Sherlock said.

"Name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

At this the blond woman's eyes widened for a moment before she gave a false smile and stood. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Right this way." She stepped out from behind the desk, showing off her sleek charcoal tweed pencil skirt and matching blazer. John followed behind her wondering what Sherlock's name had triggered in her head. He didn't have much time to ponder though before they were ushered through another door into a smaller office.

The coloring and themes were much the same as the outer office, except that the walls in here were obscured on one side with a tall bookshelf and on the other by a large portrait of a man dressed in tails and a top hat as he posed in a study or lounge of some kind. A short tumbler of amber liquid was in one hand and a black cane with a silver wolf's head was in the other. Another mahogany desk sat in this room as well, behind which sat a balding man with sharp features wearing a black three piece suit and classic red tie. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, I'm Mr. Armistead," the man smiled behind his closely shaven beard and mustache. "Mr. Holmes the elder informed me you would be stopping by today." He stepped out from behind the desk and half way reached forward to shake hands, but then seemed to think otherwise and retracted the hand, instead rocking back on his heels.

John glanced up at Sherlock's face to see that he was studying the man before them with a bored face, making it clear that he didn't particularly want to be there. "And this must be Mr. Watson," the man smiled at John, but didn't reach forward at all to shake hands.

"_Doctor_ Watson, actually," Sherlock corrected. John looked back at him again, surprised that Sherlock had remembered. But then again, given the man's intelligence thus far, perhaps it wasn't so surprising.

"My apologies, Doctor," the man gave a short bow with his head in deference. "Well, shall we get started then?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but instead lead John to be seated in one of the two seats in front of the desk. The tall werewolf only took a seat once Mr. Armistead had as well. "Since your lineage is unknown, I'll need you to fill these out to the best of your ability, Doctor Watson," Mr. Armistead said handing John a sheaf of papers in a cream folder. "Once you give us the basics in there, we should be able to find the rest and fill in the gaps."

John opened the folder and let out a sigh at all of the small print. He took the proffered pen and began filling out the paperwork. Luckily, it wasn't very difficult. Mostly things that he already knew, like his own history, his parents, siblings, grandparents, birth dates, death dates, titles (if any), and careers. While he worked, Sherlock watched and made small noises of interest at the information. Mr. Armistead tried to make small talk once, but was quieted when Sherlock only responded with an "Indeed".

Once John was finished, Mr. Armistead took the folder back and looked through it briefly. "Ah, formerly of the Royal Army Marine Corps. Excellent." He looked up with an exaggeratedly cheerful smile on his face. "That only leaves the examination."

John furrowed his brow and looked over at Sherlock. No one had mentioned anything about an examination. Sherlock noticed the look and shook his head. "It's only to examine and catalogue the bite mark," he said.

"Seems a bit personal," John muttered as he loosened his collar and leaned his head forward.

Mr. Armistead stood as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and moved around behind John. Sherlock let out a low growl, but kept his place as the balding man gently tugged down the back of John's shirt and two cold fingers traced along the bite mark. The registrar leaned over to write a couple of notes on a piece of paper a few times, all the while examining the bite mark and running one or two fingers along it. John shivered and an ache was starting to build in his neck and shoulders.

It was at this point that Sherlock growled out, "I think that will be enough."

Mr. Armistead's hands disappeared instantly and he backed away. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. All seems to be in order here."

"Then we can leave," Sherlock said standing. The statement wasn't so much for permission as it was to inform.

A hand helped to pull John from his seat as he buttoned up the top two buttons on his shirt again and straightened his jacket. "Come, John," Sherlock said as he led the way out of the office. John could feel the secondary command element in Sherlock's voice and felt his legs move faster to catch up with the werewolf.

"What was that about?" he grumbled as he caught up with the taller man in the hallway.

"I don't like people touching my things, and he was hurting you."

"No he wasn't, and I'm not your thing!" the shorter man growled.

"Yes he was. I could see it on your face. Eyes narrowed slightly, shiver that ran down your spine, mouth thinned, trying to roll your shoulders to ease the tension. It was all there for anyone to see."

"He wasn't hurting me, Sherlock. I'm still just a bit sore from sleeping on the couch last night, and bending forward like that aggravated my neck. That's all."

"Wrong." They had reached the street now and Sherlock held the door open to the black saloon. John rolled his eyes, but climbed in and scooted across the seat to make room for Sherlock. The former army doctor didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and waited for Sherlock to explain. With an exaggerated sigh, he proceeded. "Yes, your neck is probably still sore from sleeping on the sofa last night. However that is not the reason it was aching just now. It was because of the bond. Mr. Armistead is another dominant werewolf. It doesn't matter that he already has a mate, and children going by the pictures on his desk, but the bond between us reacted to his touching you."

"A dominant werewolf? What do you mean?"

"It's not something you've likely heard before, I'll give you that," he nodded at John. "It's something that happens naturally in werewolves. All werewolves are either dominant or submissive. For those who change their mates with a bonding bite, such as I did with you, usually the mate is automatically the opposite of their counterpart."

"Let me guess, you consider yourself to be dominant in this relationship?"

"Of course."

John snorted. "Well I hate to break it to you, but I'm not very submissive."

Sherlock glanced over at his mate and smiled. "Yes you are, Captain." John quirked an eyebrow at the use of his army rank, but didn't interrupt when Sherlock continued. "Exhibit A: your army career."

"But I was a captain in charge of others. I was the one giving the orders."

"But you still took orders from your superiors, and if those orders were not followed there were consequences," Sherlock said quickly. "Exhibit B: the ease in which you follow my orders."

"Only because the stupid bond compels me to!"

"John, stop talking." The command came with that timber in Sherlock's voice that made John automatically shut his mouth. "You see? Yes, it's partially the bond, but if you weren't so naturally submissive it wouldn't be nearly as effective."

John didn't say a word, but his eyes narrowed and he let out a huff as he crossed his arms and turned away from Sherlock. The taller man let it go and the rest of the ride back to 221b was spent in silence.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! I'm impressed by the amount of people reading this fic! Thank you for sticking with it! And I appreciate every single review that you send my way! I'm thinking that Thursdays are going to be my update day. And I know what you're thinking, "But Ismira, today is Wednesday." I know, but I'm just in an incredibly good mood today for some reason, so you get chapter 4 early! Happy Wednesday! lol...

Anyway, as you can see, John is still fighting the bond. Don't think he's going to stop anytime soon either. Though he may find some things easier to deal with soon *hint for next chapter!*


	5. Chapter 5

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 5: Allies**

"Sarah?" John spoke into his mobile that he'd been allowed to have back just that morning. It was the day after they had gone out to the registrar and John was supposed to go through his first transformation that night and he figured that he should probably call his work to let them know what had happened and that he wouldn't be back in the foreseeable future.

"John! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine," he halted her. "Just… well, I probably won't be back into work again."

"Of course, how long do you need off? Is it because of that elite that you spilled wine on?"

"Yes it's because of him, and I won't be coming back. I don't think I'll be allowed to. I'm sorry I couldn't give you time to find a new doctor."

"John, what's wrong?" Her voice was full of concern and John remembered why he liked her. She was always concerned about those under her employ, everyone from the new interns all the way to the former army surgeons.

"He… the werewolf elite, he claimed me as his mate. The bonding bite was preformed the morning after the dinner."

There was silence on the line for a moment before Sarah spoke again. "There's nothing you can do?"

"It doesn't seem like it, no."

"John if he's mistreating you, I can help. Somehow I will get you away from him." She was dead serious and John could just imagine her making plans to find and rescue him.

"Sarah, he's… well I don't think that would be a good idea. He's not mistreating me. In fact he's rather protective. Something about his werewolf nature. Besides, do you think he'd allow me to call you if that was the case?" He declined to mention Sherlock's dominant tendencies and his own submissive nature.

"Oh, yes, I suppose. Just… stay in touch, John. If there's anything I can do. Just let me know."

"I will, and thank you, Sarah. Take care." He hung up and let out a sigh as he turned to look out the window of the living room.

"John!" Sherlock's voice came from his room where he'd been all morning, leaving John to take care of himself, something about an experiment. However now he came rushing out as he buttoned up a purple silk shirt. "Get ready to go. Lestrade needs my expertise."

"With what? And who's Lestrade?" John asked confused as he slipped the mobile in his pocket and moved to put on a jacket and shoes.

Sherlock looked up in surprise. "I forgot that I hadn't told you." He didn't pause for long though. "Hurry up, I'll tell you in the cab."

John did as requested and slipped his shoes on before following Sherlock's Belstaff coat out the door and into a cab that he managed to hail on the first try. "So where are we going?" he asked.

"Hackney. There's been a murder."

Sherlock looked positively gleeful about this fact, something that John found slightly disturbing. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm a consulting detective. In addition to my own work, I help out Scotland Yard when they're in over their heads, which is almost always. Detective Inspector Lestrade is the only one of the bunch who's semi-competent."

"A consulting detective?"

"Only one in the world. Invented the job myself." Sherlock glanced over at John's skeptical look. "You want proof. Fine. Our cabbie. He's been driving cab for eight years. Worked in one of those tourist curio shops before that, but had to find something with a little more money after his daughter was born. However he divorced his wife about two years ago and she and the daughter moved to Manchester. He continues to pay child support which is why he continues to drive cab even though he'd much prefer to take up cooking professionally."

"That was brilliant," John said after a moment. "Only problem is you can't prove a lick of it without asking him."

"So ask! I'm not wrong." He waved toward the cabbie.

John glanced up at the man wearing a flat cap. He waited till he had pulled over to the curb and was leaning forward to pay when he took notice of a picture of a girl tucked into the console. "That your daughter?" he asked.

"Yeah, lives with her mum in Manchester though. Don't get to see her as much as I'd like," the man smiled as he handed John his change.

John slid out of the cab and gave Sherlock an admiring look. "You were right. About the wife and the daughter at least. Absolutely brilliant."

Sherlock smiled, but didn't say anything more as he strode off toward the police tape flapping in the breeze. John followed behind, but was stopped when a woman wearing a police badge held up a hand. His eyes traveled down her lean form, admiring her toffee skin and dark hazelnut eyes. At one time, she might have been his type. However that thought was dispelled when she spoke. "Hang on, who are you?" she asked in a haughty tone.

"He's with me. He's my bonded mate," Sherlock answered pausing for a moment, a sneer contorting his lips.

"With you? How do _you_ get a mate?" she almost laughed. Turning to John, she asked, "Did he follow you home?" At this she did chuckle a little.

John frowned at the woman. "Is that the way that NSY treats their consultants? No wonder they have such a difficult time tracking down murderers. I imagine the consultants all leave before long," John remarked before glancing over to Sherlock who was giving him a surprised look.

The look morphed into a pleased one, quite like a cat who found a bowl of cream. A possessive hand came up to John's back and gently pushed forward leading him away from the shocked yarder and towards the crime scene. John only had a moment to reflect on what he'd just said (to a police woman, no less) before Sherlock and he were being briefed on the murder scene by a silver haired man in a long dark coat.

"Man in his late thirties. Single. Was found by the maintenance crew who were investigating a rank smell. Works for a dentist's office on Lea Bridge Road. Name's Charles Lindbury."

"Thank you, Lestrade. Now if you'll give me a moment," Sherlock continued forward while Lestrade stayed back a couple of yards. The silver haired man held out an arm to stop John from following. "Likes to do this part alone, he does. I figure he just likes to show off," Lestrade raised a skeptical eyebrow as John watched Sherlock kneel down next to the man sprawled out on the grey carpet of the small three room apartment. John's eyes widened at the dead man before him. There was no obvious cause of death, but that still didn't take away the shock of seeing a dead body. John took a couple of deep breaths and had to put himself into the mind frame of when he was in medical school and they had worked with cadavers.

"So you're his mate, eh?" Lestrade commented, not looking over at John. "I'm Lestrade, by the way. Greg Lestrade."

John looked over at the man. "John Watson. And yeah… I suppose I am now."

"Don't sound too sure about yourself," Lestrade said glancing over.

John shrugged. "Didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

To the doctor's surprise, Lestrade only grinned. "Bit like his brother in that respect then. Only don't tell him I said so. Skin me alive."

"Brother?" John wondered how Lestrade knew the elder Holmes.

"Yeah. Mycroft Holmes. Took one look at me and performed the bonding bite within five hours."

John stared at the silver haired man in shock. Did this kind of thing run in the family? "Before you go getting indignant on my behalf, it happened about six years ago and I made myself perfectly clear on how unhappy I was with him at the time."

"Things have changed then?" John asked taking the next logical step.

Lestrade gave John a small smile. "Yes and no. Being that he's a Dom, I became a sub. Didn't quite sit right with me, being that I was a cop. Mind I was only a sergeant at the time, but that didn't matter. I imagine you're going through something similar?"

John snorted. "Just a bit." There was a few seconds of silence while they watched Sherlock move around the body with his pocket magnifying glass. "Will he always be this way?" John asked quietly.

"Probably, but don't be afraid to tell him what you want," Lestrade gave John a serious look. "Look, I can tell you're a bit unnerved about this whole thing. Why don't we go out for a pint after the full moon? I can answer any questions you have then?"

John nodded and gave Lestrade a small smile. He felt like he'd gained an ally. If Sherlock's brother was anything like Sherlock, then Greg would be someone who could definitely relate and be a sounding board when John became frustrated with Sherlock.

"John!" Sherlock's sharp bark carried through the small room. "Come here."

John gave a weary sigh and Lestrade cast him a sympathetic glance and handed him a pair of latex gloves before John walked over to crouch beside Sherlock. "Tell me what you see," he said indicating the body with one gloved hand.

John focused then, putting his mind firmly in the frame of doctor mode. He pressed the back of his hand against the man's cold skin and peered at his eyes, lifting the eyelid a bit as he did so. His gaze shifted to the spatters of blood on the carpet near the man's mouth. It wasn't much. Not nearly enough to be cause of death. However it gave John an idea and he carefully readjusted his weight so that he could use both hands to palpate the man's neck. Sure enough, there was a spot that didn't feel quite right.

Glancing over at Lestrade who was watching carefully, he asked, "Don't happen to have a forceps do you?"

Lestrade turned to the medical team that was waiting outside in the hall and called out for the item John had asked for. A disgruntled man with longer dark hair trudged in with the forceps. "What do you need this for?" he asked handing the item to John.

"You'll see in a second," he replied. "Sherlock, turn the head just a bit so I can get a good angle."

Sherlock smirked and did as John requested. John thought that he might already know what had happened, but was letting John have his moment. John didn't say anything about it though as he reached down the man's throat with the forceps and searched around a bit before coming in contact with what he knew to be there. It was a bit of a struggle removing the offending item, but eventually John pulled the forceps back out with a simple wooden toothpick clenched between the metal teeth at the end. "This is your killer," he said depositing both forceps and toothpick in an evidence bag that someone had provided.

"Almost an embarrassment having to call me down here for something so simple, Lestrade," Sherlock commented as he rose to his feet. He held a hand out for John, but the man refused and stood by himself, one knee protesting slightly causing him to grimace a little. Sherlock frowned, but didn't say anything. "Next time, observe a bit more before you call. I'm sure even a constable could've seen the empty plate and the box of toothpicks open on the kitchen table. Your _victim_ accidentally killed himself by swallowing the toothpick. It lodged in his throat causing a bleed and for him to choke to death.

"Now if you'll excuse me. Come along, John." With that, Sherlock swept from the room, turning his coat collar up as he did so.

John rolled his eyes, but moved to follow. Lestrade stopped him near the door though. He handed him a card. "Has my number on it. Call or text if you need anything. I know how the Holmeses can get." He glanced over towards where Sherlock had disappeared down the hall. "Good luck with the transformation tonight."

John tucked the card in his pocket and gave Lestrade (Greg, he decided to call him) a grateful smile before hurrying after Sherlock. However what Greg had said suddenly registered and a dull kind of dread settled in his stomach at the thought that he was indeed going to change into a wolf tonight. He almost didn't notice when Sherlock steered him into a cab and slid in beside him, a hand resting on his knee. "It'll be fine, John," he said quietly.

John glanced over at the dark haired detective and tried to give an appreciative smile, but couldn't seem to do it considering that Sherlock was the reason that he was in this predicament in the first place. Instead he simply nodded and went back to staring out the window as they headed back to Baker Street.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Righto, so I know I said I'd do Thursday updates, but Wednesdays I only have one class and I have nothing better to do... except homework. Should definitely be doing homework. ...meh.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter and as always, I highly appreciate any and all comments/reviews you leave. If you're signed in when you leave them I shall endeavor to respond.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 6: Transformation**

"You need to relax," Sherlock said as he put his violin away, snapping the latches on the case.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to bloody relax when I'm going to be turning into a bloody wolf within the hour," John grumbled as he paced the floor.

Sherlock set the case next to his music stand by the window and came over to intercept John's pacing. Two strong hands grabbed hold of John's upper arms, holding him still. "Listen to me, John," he said staring down at his mate. "You need to relax. I would command you, but it would be false. Your mind would still be racing."

John stared up at the man before him and tried to jerk out of his grasp, but the hands only tightened. "Let go of me," he growled, and surprisingly his voice actually sounded more wolf like.

However Sherlock didn't let him go. Instead he surprised the short blond man by wrapping his arms around the smaller body and tugging him close. John was pressed up against Sherlock, breathing in his scent and feeling his body heat. "What are you doing?" he asked tugging a little against the hold.

"Hugging you. Studies have shown that hugging someone has multiple benefits including building sense of safety and trust, boosting oxytocin levels, lifting serotonin levels, and relieving tension in the body," Sherlock explained scientifically, all the while keeping a tight hold on John.

And indeed John could feel himself relaxing into the hug. There was something about the warmth of Sherlock's body pressed against his and how the pressure against his sternum was comforting and made him feel safe. While he had been in Afghanistan, he'd learned from a mystic about chakras. He could recall the mystic saying that hugging activated the Solar Plexus Chakra, which in turn activated the thymus gland making your body produce more white blood cells and improving your immune system. A healthy Solar Plexus Chakra resulted in a confident person who felt in control of their life.

John wasn't sure if everything the mystic said was true, but he did feel a little better now. His heart wasn't beating so fast and the nervous flutter in his stomach had quieted. Surprising himself, his arms lifted and wrapped around Sherlock returning the hug. They stood like that for a while. John wasn't sure how long, but the longer they remained, the more he could feel his nerves settling. Eventually, Sherlock leaned back and looked down at him. "Better?"

John nodded. "Can you go over the transformation process again?" Sherlock had attempted to explain it to him when they'd gotten back to Baker Street, but he'd been too nervous to pay attention.

His mate nodded and led John to sit down on the couch. He kept physical contact with his mate the whole time and when they were both seated, Sherlock took hold of John's hand and wrapped his fingers around. "Being born a werewolf, I can't really tell you what my first transformation was like. However I can describe what you can expect based on other's accounts published in journals. It seems to be common that the first transformation can be painful. However it's less so if the individual is relaxed and accepting of it. It happens quickly, within the span of a minute or two. You can expect to be dizzy or confused once the transformation is complete, but it will pass. Those who went through the transformation alone described a sense of dread and anxiety. However I will be here with you. I imagine that the reason they felt as such was because of the nature of the wolf. They yearn to be in a pack with others. If they are alone it can result in both physical and psychological detriment."

John nodded along with Sherlock's explanation. He could feel his nerves fluttering up again, but they settled down when Sherlock squeezed his hand and pressed against him. "So how should we do this?" John asked.

"I find it best to be sitting or laying down when you transform. You might want to lie down on the floor though. It'll be easier for the first time."

John nodded and glanced at the clock. Sunset was only a few minutes away, so he slipped off of the couch to sit on the floor and lie down in front of the fireplace. Sherlock followed, sitting cross-legged nearby, still holding John's hand. "Remember to remain calm, John. You're going to feel some discomfort as your body changes, but try to push it to the back of your mind and focus on breathing regularly."

John nodded and let out a long breath as he closed his eyes. He could feel a kind of tingling across his skin, but that could just be nerves. However when he felt a squeezing sensation in his abdomen, he knew the change had begun. It wasn't painful at first, just uncomfortable. He could feel his organs moving around inside him and changing. It was when his bones started to change shape that the pain kicked in. He let out a started gasp as pain ricocheted through his chest and back. He kept his eyes closed though and tried to focus on breathing evenly.

The pain lessened a bit, but then seemed to ratchet up a notch again. This time it was all over. Every single muscle in his body sung with pain and a howl left his lips at the excruciating feeling. He heard a low whine next to him, but it didn't really register through the pain. Gasping, he opened his eyes finally only to see that everything looked different. He could still see color, but things were different. There were no reds or greens. Instead they were shades of blue, yellow, brown, and grey.

Looking over to Sherlock, he instead saw a black wolf lying on his belly, his head on his outstretched paws. A whine left the black wolf and it shuffled closer to John. John tried to reassure it, to let it know that he was okay now, but all that came out was a grumble from deep in his throat. At this, the black wolf rose and practically lay on top of John, licking his face and neck. The heat from the other wolf felt good against his sore muscles.

After a few minutes, Sherlock got off of John and nudged him into standing up. John did so carefully, first sitting up, and then moving to all four paws. He was unsteady and unsure of how to coordinate all four at once, but Sherlock was there beside him, supporting him. They walked around the flat a little until John felt more comfortable moving on his own, then Sherlock sat down beside the fireplace and watched as John moved around the flat by himself, taking in the different scents and imprinting them to his memory as "home".

"Yoo hoo!" a woman's voice called out from the front door. "Brought some food up for you dears," an elderly woman wearing a purple floral dress appeared carrying a tray of rare steak. "Mind it's only just this once. Not your housekeeper."

John skittered away from the woman into the kitchen, but Sherlock was calm and flashed her a grateful look. "Oh dear, hasn't met me yet, has he?" she asked of Sherlock despite his inability to answer. "Mrs. Hudson, dear," she introduced herself to John who was peeking out from behind the kitchen table. "No need to be afraid. I'm Sherlock's landlady."

This surprised John and he found himself moving closer to the kind-faced woman. He didn't think that a werewolf elite would lower himself to renting from a little old lady. Though Sherlock didn't really fit the pattern of regular elites in many ways. John found himself standing before Mrs. Hudson now. She smiled, but didn't touch him at all. "I'll just leave you two alone then. Time for my herbal soother anyway. Come visit when you're human again," she said before exiting the flat and going back downstairs.

John turned to Sherlock, but the black wolf was examining the tray with two rare steaks on it. He sniffed both of them before turning to John. There was a sense in the back of John's mind that Sherlock wanted him to come, and he wondered if that was how the Dominant commands came through in this form? Sherlock nudged the tray a bit and John bent to sniff at one of the steaks. He usually took his meat medium well done, but these smelled delicious and he found himself tearing into the steak with enthusiasm. Sherlock looked on with approval and joined him a moment later.

After both wolves had finished, John felt a bit restless. He felt the urge to run and chase, but there was hardly any room in the flat to do so. However his eyes fell on Sherlock and a grin split his muzzle. The black wolf was watching his mate curiously, but didn't quite expect it when the blond wolf lunged at him. John hit Sherlock and knocked him to the ground, but a second later, the black wolf was out from under him and running into the kitchen.

John took chase with enthusiasm, scrabbling against the smooth floor as he rounded the table and raced back into the living room. The black wolf zipped around the coffee table and through the door into his room. John sped after him, but was efficiently tackled to the ground after entering Sherlock's room. Unlike John, the black wolf knew fighting tactics in this form and was able to pin the blond wolf down. However unlike Sherlock, John had been in the army and put to use his basic training in close combat.

He was able to kick out and break free, scrambling back out into the living room. Sherlock wasn't deterred though and tackled him again in front of the fireplace. This time he was prepared when John tried to kick out, and placed his teeth against the other's throat. John fell still at that and Sherlock let out a happy bark at winning the game.

John grumbled a bit, but was soothed when Sherlock settled over him and began to clean his muzzle and face. John let him, suddenly feeling tired after their romp through the flat. It seemed Sherlock was content to clean his mate, and John soon found himself falling asleep thanks to the soothing attentions of his mate and the warmth cast out from the fireplace.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! This one is just a whole lotta fluff! Anyway, I hope you like it. I'm currently working on chapter 7, which should be done in time for update next week. TTFN!


	7. Chapter 7

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 7: Strangers**

The next two nights (that of the full moon and the night after) John and Sherlock spent inside 221b. During the day, they slept and lazed about, but at night they romped and played like puppies… two hundred pound puppies. There were no cases to distract them, and besides, Sherlock wouldn't have left his new mate during his first moon phase.

John was becoming more comfortable with the idea of being a werewolf, even if it did hurt a bit when he transformed. Sherlock informed him it would be almost a year before his body adjusted. It was only when he woke the morning after the last night of transformation, completely covered by Sherlock on the floor in front of the fireplace that he felt a little uncomfortable. He still wasn't too sure about the idea of mating with this man. He'd never really considered himself completely heterosexual, but he'd never been with another man. He'd only ever dated women. However here he was on the third morning with a mouthful of black curls and the heavy dead weight of a man completely asleep on top of him.

They'd managed to fall asleep in Sherlock's bed last night, so at least his back didn't hurt as much this morning. A low grumbling announced his hunger though. One thing he'd noticed about being a werewolf was that his appetite had picked up. Medically speaking it kind of made sense. The body would have to exert a ton of energy to change forms and that energy needed to be replaced, therefore always hungry. He tried to shove Sherlock off, but as always the taller man simply clutched tighter to his mate. "Sherlock," John grumbled.

Sherlock made a sleepy sound and nuzzled further into John's neck. "Sherlock, I need to get up," he tried again.

"No you don't," a muffled scratchy voice replied.

"Yes I do. I'm hungry and I need to pee."

There was silence for a moment before Sherlock grudgingly groaned and rolled off of John. "I want you back here in under ten minutes," Sherlock said, his eyes still closed.

John felt himself stiffen a bit as his body recognized the secondary element to Sherlock's voice that indicated a command from the dominant werewolf. Frowning, he made his way to the bathroom where he took care of business before proceeding out to the kitchen. Tea and toast was all he could do in under ten minutes, but it was enough that his stomach wasn't protesting as much.

Nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, John was still in the kitchen. He didn't want to go back to bed now that he was up. He wanted a proper English fry up and maybe some coffee. However there was a nagging, itching sensation in the back of his head, and his legs were jumpy.

Nine minutes fifty-five seconds…

John felt himself rise from his seat at the kitchen table despite the fact that he was in the middle of taking a sip of tea. "What the bloody hell?" he muttered as his legs moved without his permission. They were carrying him back to the bedroom. John frowned and felt anger rush through him. He was not going to just give in to Sherlock's every whim. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the framing that lined the entry between living room and kitchen. He managed to stop himself for a moment, but then a sharp pain at the base of his skull forced him to let go and desperately clutch at his head.

His legs continued to move toward the bedroom and once there, he collapsed in a heap on the end of the bed over Sherlock's legs. The younger man looked down at his mate. "You fought. Why did you fight?"

John was still trying to control the pain in his head. Tears threatened to escape, but he blinked them away. "Because I refuse to be controlled by an arrogant arse!" Nausea swept through him from the pain and he curled up into the fetal position.

"You're in pain," Sherlock's soft voice whispered.

"Of course I'm bloody well in pain! You ordered me about when I didn't want to do what you wanted!" John clamped his mouth shut as the nausea threatened to bring the toast and tea back up. He closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly in and out through his nose. He could feel the bed shifting as Sherlock moved and a moment later, a cold hand was smoothing back his hair and down along his cheek.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, John," Sherlock said quietly as he stroked John's back now.

John shivered at the touch, but felt his nausea calming down. When he opened his eyes he looked up to see a concerned man looking back down at him. "I don't appreciate being told what to do, Sherlock," he said still gently holding his stomach. "Why do you do that anyway?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Order me about?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment. "In school we were taught that we had to command our submissives to do as we wanted else they would not know what to do."

"Sherlock, I'm a grown man. I know what to do, and I know how a normal relationship works. It involves give and take from _both_ parties involved. I'm not some helpless submissive."

"I know that, John."

"Then you need to treat me like a person." He uncurled from the fetal position and sat up so that he was on the same level as Sherlock. "If this is going to work… if you want me to be happy, then we're going to need to work together. You can't just go about ordering me to do things whenever you please. I _will_ fight you if you do."

Sherlock looked up into John's serious blue eyes and could see the truth in the words he spoke. He nodded. "I want you to be happy," he said quietly. John looked at his mate and could see how vulnerable he was at that moment.

Reaching forward, he rested a hand on Sherlock's leg. "We can talk about this later when I'm not as angry. Right now, I need to get something to eat and talk to Greg."

"Greg?" Sherlock's head snapped up and John could feel a kind of vibration along the link that connected them.

"Lestrade? Your brother's mate?"

"Oh, Lestrade. What do you need to talk to him about?"

"About you, to be honest."

Sherlock furrowed his brows for a moment. "He offered to take you out for drinks after the full moon. Offered to be someone to let off steam with."

John nodded. "I just need to ask him some questions about this whole thing."

"You can always ask me," Sherlock replied, his hand came up to cover and squeeze John's, which was still resting on his leg.

"I need someone who's not biased. Greg has a similar background to me. He's a changed werewolf who's not really a full submissive. I think he can help me understand what's going on a little better."

Sherlock's frown lessened a bit. "I don't understand your need to relate to someone, but I won't tell you that you can't go."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I really do need this." He squeezed Sherlock's hand back before smiling. "Now come on, you have to be nearly as hungry as I am. Is there a place nearby that serves a decent fry up?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled a little. "Two blocks down."

It took another hour of showers and getting dressed before they were able to go down to the bistro a couple of blocks down from 221b. John was famished and eagerly wolfed down a full English breakfast. Sherlock, on the other hand, sipped at his coffee slowly and watched his mate, content that the man was, at the moment, happy. "Sherlock, you need to eat," John said as he scooped up some egg with his hashbrowns.

"I've eaten."

John gave the man a skeptical look. Sherlock had indeed ordered food, but it was only a simple meal of toast and an egg with a slice of ham, and the ham was still lying untouched. "No wonder you're so skinny," John muttered. He set down his knife and fork only to pick up his cup of coffee and take a sip of the now tepid liquid. "I need to get out of the flat," he said after a moment.

"Why?"

John gave Sherlock a skeptical look. "Because normal human beings can't be cooped up all day everyday and be expected not to throttle their flatmate."

"But you're not a normal human being anymore, and I'm your mate, not your flatmate," Sherlock pointed out gesturing with his coffee cup.

"That's beside the point! You can't tell me that you don't feel the need to get out and walk for a bit?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm content to do my experiments."

John sighed. "Okay, well I'm going for a walk in Regents Park. You're welcome to join." He finished off his coffee and got up to leave, throwing a tenner down on the table.

John made it all of five steps out the door of the bistro before Sherlock caught up with him. "This isn't how it's supposed to work," Sherlock said. John could detect a note of confusion in his voice. "I'm not supposed to be the one chasing after you."

John smirked. "Do I look like I care how it's supposed to be?"

"Not in the slightest," Sherlock smirked back.

They walked through Regents for a while, enjoying the crisp breeze and cool air. John shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a casual pace. He wasn't in a hurry. He'd texted Lestrade on the way to the bistro and the DI had texted him back saying to meet at a nearby pub called Purl over on Blandford Street at 17:00 the next evening. He was looking forward to it and being able to ask Lestrade some things that had been bothering him.

It was when they had just rounded a curve in the path that John noticed a man in a fine black wool coat walking towards them. The coat was left open, allowing anyone who cared to look a sight at the man's bespoke Westwood suit. John rolled his eyes a bit. Westwood had never been in his price range, but he knew the sight of one when he saw it from his days running around his parent's tailoring shop. His dad had been one of the best tailors in London as was evident in their clientele. However that was neither here nor now and John shrugged off the cold feeling he always got when he remembered his now dead parents. Instead he clenched his hands into fists in his jacket pockets and continued onward, leading Sherlock as the man texted away on his phone a few paces behind.

John was just passing the man in the Westwood suit when a hand on his arm stopped him on the path. He looked over at the elegantly dressed man, noticing his dark eyes and combed back black hair. A smile curved his thin lips and John shivered at the cloying expression. "Can I help you?" he asked the man.

The man looked him in the eyes, still smiling. "Do you want to follow me home?" he asked in a tone that begged no arguing that that was exactly what John should do.

John could feel a kind of pressure on the back of his neck in the same place that lit up whenever Sherlock ordered him around. "I…" John knew he should say no, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth.

Suddenly, a vicious growl vibrated through the air and the man was pushed away from John. A strong arm was holding him pressed up against his mate, back to front. Sherlock continued to growl at the stranger who looked startled for a moment before his face melted back into a menacing smile. "My apologies," he said quickly. "I had thought he was free for the taking. You weren't paying him much attention after all," the man said holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Sherlock's growling ceased as he spoke. "He's not available."

"Of course, of course!" the man nodded and moved away at a quick walk, but not before casting a last gaze at John that had the man not known better he would have called it lecherous.

A shiver worked its way through John as the man left and Sherlock continued to hold him tightly. A cold nose pressed against his skin where the bonding bite was followed by a warm wet tongue. Another shiver rose in John, but for a different reason. "Time to go home, John," Sherlock said in a tone that begged no argument. He didn't use the compelling tone that would have forced John to obey, but John still knew not to argue with his mate.

He waited till they got back to Baker street and Sherlock had hung his coat up before asking what had been on his mind since the park. "What was that about?"

Sherlock, uncharacteristically tactile at the moment, helped John with getting his jacket off before leading him to the sofa where he pushed John down to sit on the plush leather. Sherlock settled down next to him, pressed up against his side. "He was trying to compel you to follow him."

"Compel?" John asked trying to scoot away from Sherlock a bit, but it only resulted in the consulting detective stretching out across John's lap possessively.

"Yes, that's what it's called when I give you a direct order that you have to follow."

"So he was a werewolf?" Sherlock nodded and John absently rested a hand on the man's shoulder. "Others can compel me even though I'm bonded to you?"

Sherlock nodded again. "Your scent is mixed with mine, but some ignore that, liking a challenge." At this, the werewolf tightened his hold around John's middle, pressing his face into the man's stomach.

John grunted a little at the tight hold, but didn't voice a complaint. "Is this it then? Will he try again?" he asked after a minute.

Sherlock looked up at his mate, a possessive look in his eyes and his mouth in a hard line. "If he knows what's best for him he won't."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?" John asked, ignoring the short growl from his mate.

"No, but it's not completely unheard of."

"What usually happens?"

"Usually the other wolf is scared off by the current mate, but in some instances the two Doms fight to the death during a full moon for possession of the sub."

John was quiet for a moment. As much as he didn't like being owned or possessed by Sherlock, he would choose the consulting detective over the stranger in the park any day. While Sherlock was cold and calculating at times, at least he cared. The stranger just looked cruel. He looked like the sort who would put a collar on his sub and force him to do his bidding.

The former military doctor shivered at the thought of being owned by the stranger causing Sherlock to tighten his grip once more. "I won't let him anywhere near you, John."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Oooh! It get's interesting! lol... I'm sure you guys can guess who the stranger was, and if not you'll find out in the next couple of chapters! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 8: Blood Diamond**

Sherlock refused to let John out of his sight after the incident in the park resulting in John having to cancel with Greg. The DI seemed quite putout when John called him. "Seriously? What happened?" he asked.

"Met a stranger in the park who tried to compel me and Sherlock went berserk," John explained over the phone.

"Oh," Lestrade commented understanding immediately. "Rain check?"

"Sure. Sometime next week maybe? Or at least until Sherlock stops following me around like a lost puppy?"

Greg chuckled a bit before agreeing. "Sounds good. Text me when he's done sulking."

"Sure! Later," John hung up the mobile and turned around only to find Sherlock standing right behind him. He jumped a little in surprise before calming and shooting the taller man a scowl. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Was that Lestrade?"

John rolled his eyes and stepped around his mate into the kitchen to make himself some lunch. "You know it was," he said.

"What did he say? Do we have a case?"

"No," John replied pulling a container of sliced roast beef out of the fridge and checking the expiration date. "Just asked him for a rain check for tonight since you seem incapable of leaving me alone for two seconds."

Sherlock made an undignified sound behind him as John pulled out a jar of mayo and some lettuce as well. He moved to a free spot on the countertop and pulled a fresh loaf of bread towards him and started to make himself a sandwich. Looking back surreptitiously, John could see Sherlock standing at the table looking through his microscope at a slide containing god only knew what. He pulled out another slice of bread and made a half a sandwich for his mate who was still far too thin in John's opinion.

When he was done, he set the half sandwich and a cup of tea near Sherlock and sat down at the end of the table, squeezing his own plate in between the Bunsen burner and an Erlenmeyer flask filled with a smoky translucent blue liquid. He ate his sandwich slowly, looking at the World News section of the paper as he did so. The flat was quiet for the moment except for the gentle rustle of the paper and the occasional scribble of pencil on paper from Sherlock. John glanced up a few times, but never saw the man eat his sandwich. However thirty minutes later when he had finished his own sandwich and his reading, the plate next to Sherlock's elbow was empty except for a few breadcrumbs. John smiled to himself and grabbed the plate to wash it up.

The rest of the day in 221b was quiet, and John spent some of the time on his computer typing up a short blog of what had been happening lately. His therapist, prior to being taken by Sherlock, had recommended keeping a blog to sort things out, and he found it helpful now that he was with Sherlock as well. It wasn't necessarily for others to read so much as it was a way for him to organize his thoughts. He finished out the evening by watching a couple hours of Doctor Who (Tom Baker years) before headed upstairs to bed.

* * *

The next morning, John was startled awake by the sharp crack of a gunshot. He panted as his eyes searched for the source of the sound and he could swear that he could smell the hot blood and feel the hot Afghani sun as he sprinted from his bed. Edging into the hallway and down the stairs, John's eyes were wide and looking for danger. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him jumpy.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he peeked around the corner, but didn't anything out of place. Sherlock was lying on the couch in his blue housecoat… holding a gun. John's old service pistol to be exact; he thought it had been confiscated when he moved in with Sherlock. He breathed out a sigh of relief and walked into the room. "What the bloody hell, Sherlock?" he asked staring hard at the man. "How did you even get that?"

"Bored," was all he said.

"That doesn't answer my question. How did you get my gun, Sherlock?" John made to grab for the pistol, but Sherlock jerked it away and shot towards the wall again, the sound deafening at close range. He jumped back, fighting the panic that was welling up inside him. This was _not_ Afghanistan! He was safe in central London with his stupid mate firing shots at a smiley face painted on the wall. However the self-talk didn't seem to be working and he found himself gasping for air as memories of wounded soldiers covered in blood, screaming in pain, and begging for mercy came flooding back. Gunshots, screams, hot stifling air… John couldn't breath, he just couldn't.

Suddenly a pair of strong arms were wrapped around him and he panicked further, trying to throw the enemy off, but they wouldn't budge. A gentle soothing shushing sound was whispered into his ear. "John, it's me, Sherlock. You're in 221b in London, not Afghanistan. Shh… calm down."

John stopped struggling, but his breathing was refusing to return to normal and he was starting to feel light headed. "Deep breaths now, you can do it," Sherlock encouraged, running a hand up and down John's arm soothingly. He could feel the taller man shifting him around and suddenly all he could smell was Sherlock. His mate's scent completely encompassed all of his senses. John breathed in the smell, letting it calm him. He tried to identify the different scents to calm himself further. Coffee, paper, chemicals, and just a hint of musk that was Sherlock's sweat.

John nuzzled into the scent, giving himself over to the strong arms wrapped around him. When he opened his eyes again he saw that he was now straddled on top of Sherlock who was sitting on the floor. Both arms were still wrapped around John and John's face was pressed against Sherlock's neck. He tried to pull back a bit, but Sherlock kept him in place with a hand at the back of his head. "Just stay where you are for a moment longer, it'll help," he said.

The blond man nodded and relaxed into Sherlock's body. Scenting his mate did help to calm him and he soon found himself nearly falling asleep. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly after a few long minutes. John startled awake a bit at the apology. "Why?" was all he could muster.

"Because I'm easily bored and it was a distraction," he sighed and hugged John tighter. "You have no idea how lucky you are, John. My mind is constantly going. Constantly running a hundred kilometers an hour. I have yet to figure out how to shut it off without resorting to chemical dependence."

"Chemical?"

Sherlock sighed, but continued. "There was a time in my not so distant past that I shot up with heroine to quiet my mind."

"Did it work?"

"In a way. My mind still ran, but I was more relaxed and more inclined to let it pass. Though it complicated the transformation process a bit. Nearly killed myself."

John gave a disapproving kind of grunt, still too exhausted to do much more than lean sleepily against his mate. "How long ago was that?"

"I've been clean for three years," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Christ," John whispered. "I can understand to a degree why you would want to turn you mind off, but heroine?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

John rolled his eyes. They remained seated for at least another half an hour, just breathing in each other's scent. However the peace couldn't last forever and John was startled from his half doze when Sherlock's mobile went off. The consulting detective reached forward to where the phone rested on the coffee table and tapped the screen to see the message. A smile lit up his face slowly and John could guess at what the message said. "Case?" he asked moving to get up.

Sherlock nodded and rose to his feet as soon as John was clear, texting away a reply to Lestrade. As soon as he hit send though, he looked over at the blond man. "You don't have to come if you don't feel up to it," he said, uncharacteristically pausing in the wake of a new case.

John shook his head. "I'm fine now. Besides, I want to see more of your work."

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "Get dressed then. We're meeting Lestrade at Covent Garden."

Within an hour a taxi was dropping them off at the crime scene, a ceramics shop that specialized in antique looking figurines. Crime scene tape marked off the area, but Sherlock ignored it as he ducked under and John followed. This time Lieutenant Donovan didn't stop them at all, but the blond army doctor did hear her calling into her radio, "Freak's here."

They walked into the shop to find Lestrade directing the forensics team to take a small break while Sherlock looked around. John took the time to look around as well. The shop wasn't very large, but was chock full of figurines of all shapes, sizes, and colors. However it wasn't these that drew his attention, but rather the clerk behind the register lying in a pool of her own blood. John could tell immediately by the wound, amount of blood, and splatter on the shelving behind the till that she was shot with a small caliber bullet. The woman appeared to be around her mid forties, had pale skin and dark jet-black hair, and approximately eight stone sopping wet.

Sherlock hovered over her for a while before inching around her, avoiding the blood. John stood back next to Greg, quite reminiscent of their first meeting. "How is he?" Greg asked, and John could only assume he was talking about the park incident yesterday.

"Better," John nodded, watching as Sherlock examined the woman with his pocket-magnifying lens. "Scented me as much as possible and nearly followed me up to bed before I told him to shove off."

Greg chuckled. "So about that rain check then?"

John glanced over at the DI, curious as to why the man seemed so intent on getting John out for a drink. He shrugged it off after a moment though, blaming it on Mycroft. He supposed that Greg needed to vent as much as _he_ did sometimes. "Probably not tonight or tomorrow," he replied thoughtfully. Sherlock would probably still be following him around then.

"Day after tomorrow? Make for a quiet night at the pub with it being Wednesday."

John nodded. He didn't really want a loud boisterous group; he'd grown out of that a while back. To be exact, he'd grown out of it about the same time he was shipped out for his first deployment in Afghanistan. "Sounds like a plan. Still the same time and place?"

Greg smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'll text you if anything comes up."

John returned the smile and turned to see that Sherlock was walking back towards them. "Nothing was taken?" he asked. The question was almost more of a statement.

Lestrade shook his head. "No, not even the money in the till."

Sherlock snorted. "Of course not. They were only after the diamonds."

"Diamonds?"

"Of course, Lestrade. Do use your eyes!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Notice that the clerk has scar tissue along her hip," he pointed out the skin that was showing just above her trousers. Her shirt had slid up when she'd fallen. John squinted, but indeed there was a thin pink line that stood out from the surrounding pale skin.

"She's recently had surgery, a liver transplant if her eyes and the placement of the scar are anything to go by. NHS would have paid for the surgery, but she would've needed money to get by in the mean time and pay bills. That's where the diamond trafficking comes in."

"How do you know it was diamonds?" Lestrade asked, taking down everything Sherlock was saying in his notepad.

At this, Sherlock pointed to the trashcan behind the counter. "A garbage can?"

"What's in the garbage can?"

"Garbage?"

"Really, Lestrade?! How can you be so dense!"

"A smashed figurine?" Lestrade tried after looking again.

"Indeed! It's been broken to access where the diamonds where hiding inside. And before you ask, I know it was diamonds because there happens to be a small one stuck in the blood just beside her left arm. "Your killer knew what was in the figurine and even knew which one the diamonds were in, judging by the fact that only the one was shattered. Which makes him an accomplice. He's probably someone who helped her to sell the diamonds on the black market. However he got fed up with waiting for her and when he found out she was keeping some of the diamonds. Don't believe me? Look in the safe in her office."

"He's most likely lying low at the moment, waiting to sell the diamonds until after the murder investigation loses steam. Which means that he'll be waiting near by to keep an eye on the place. You should look for young men in their mid twenties who look to have come into some wealth recently. Look for nice watches or rings or brand name clothing. Shouldn't be too hard."

Lestrade nodded as he finished writing. "Good, thanks, Sherlock," he nodded in gratitude at the consulting detective. "I'll text if I have more questions."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Next time, Lestrade, make sure it's at least a little bit difficult."

Lestrade looked about ready to retort, but Sherlock swept out the door. John shrugged sympathetically before following. "See you Wednesday," he called out.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! I'm still thrilled at the response this story is getting! Can't believe how amazing all of you are and how much you like this story! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. Another short case, but with less gross toothpicks... lol... a lot of people got squeamish about that apparently. Next chapter WILL have John and Lestrade going out for drinks. Should be interesting! ;)

*EDIT: Made some corrections based on the helpful suggestions from NumberThirteen in AO3. Nothing plot changing, just some little Brit-picking things and spelling.


	9. Chapter 9

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 9: Purl**

John rummaged through his closet selecting what to wear after taking a hot relaxing shower. It was nearly 1600 hours and he was going to be late meeting up with Greg if he didn't get moving. So he quickly selected a white undershirt, a blue plaid button up, and a cozy cream jumper along with a favorite pair of jeans. Dressing quickly, he was just grabbing his keys and wallet when Sherlock stepped in front of him, a scowl on his face. "Where are you going?"

"To meet up with Lestrade. I told you about this, Sherlock. We're going to a bar, maybe grab a bite to eat and then I'll be back. Four hours, tops."

Sherlock studied him for a moment before nodding. "You have your mobile?"

"Of course," John grumbled stepping around his mate to grab his jacket.

"And you'll text me when you get there and when you leave?"

John pulled the jacket on and turned to give Sherlock an eye roll. "Yes, mum."

The blond man was just about to turn the doorknob and head down stairs when a hand pulled him back around and pressed him against the door. Dark curly hair swooped down and chapped lips met his in a rough dominating kiss. John was surprised for a moment and started to push away, but then Sherlock bit at his lower lip and moved the kisses down John's neck, nibbling and nipping. The former army doctor was gasping and clutching at the silky robe of his mate, unsure whether he should be pushing or pulling. With a final sharp nip to his neck, Sherlock pulled back, a smirk on his face.

John leaned heavily on the door behind him, panting. "What the bloody hell was that about?" he asked in between breaths.

"Making sure that anyone you encounter knows that you are claimed."

John ran a hand along his neck, grimacing at the tender spot where Sherlock had bitten. "Was that really necessary? I'm only going a few blocks away."

"Absolutely."

John eyed his mate, but decided against further argument. "Right, I need to go." Sherlock nodded and stepped back to allow the shorter man room to maneuver. John gave him one last speculative look before leaving, noticing that the consulting detective seemed to be fighting the impulse to follow.

The entire way to the bar John kept readjusting his jacket, self-conscious of the bite mark that was probably a fabulous shade of red and purple right about now. When he finally got to Purl, he quickly descended the stairs and entered while firing off a text to Sherlock. The bar was cozy, reminiscent of a speak-easy from the American 1920s and John found himself liking it immediately. Greg wasn't there yet, so John walked up to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter for himself. He had just found a seat in one of the many cozy armchairs that were scattered in groups around low tables when the silver haired detective walked in.

John caught his eye and waved. Greg nodded back and placed his order at the bar before joining John with a bitter of his own. "Sorry, bit late," he said as he sat down, shedding his coat.

"Don't worry about it. Just got here myself," John replied sipping at his drink. "I'm glad we could meet up. Sherlock's been driving me 'round the bend," he rolled his eyes.

Greg chuckled. "I know what you mean. I get quiet enough of him at crime scenes. I can hardly imagine what it's like being mated to him." Greg smirked as he eyed the mark on John's neck.

The blond man groaned and pulled the collar of his shirt up higher, not that it did any good in hiding the mark. "Possessive git," he muttered.

"Yeah, the Holmes brothers are both like that. Though it's a trait that runs common in all Dominant werewolves."

John sat up a bit at this. "Speaking of… you sounded eager to get me down here before. What was it you wanted to discuss?"

Greg shrugged as he took another drink. "Needed to get away from Mycroft for a bit. That and I doubt Sherlock has explained much about being a werewolf to you?"

John shook his head. "Well… a bit, but no not really."

"I thought as much. Well, I suppose I could start with the whole Dom/sub issue?" John nodded in agreement and Greg set down his bitter before leaning forward. "The biggest thing that you need to know about being a submissive is that you don't have to let it rule your life. It doesn't mean that you are always submissive to Sherlock; just that usually he's the one being a possessive git." Greg grinned a bit before continuing. "Doms want their subs to be happy. That's their biggest fault and their greatest asset. If you really don't want to do something or really want to do something that he doesn't, don't be afraid to argue. It's just like in any relationship, there's give and take."

John nodded. "I've already experienced that a bit. Even tried explaining it to Sherlock."

"How'd that go?" Greg snorted.

"Considering that he'd just put me through a massive headache, I think I got through to him a bit," John gave a wry smile, remembering the pain of not following Sherlock's orders.

Greg grimaced. "Didn't follow a direct order?"

John nodded. "Found out the hard way what it feels like."

"Mother Nature's way of screwing us over," Greg shook his head. "Mycroft and I have had that conversation a few times. He rarely compels me to do anything now, but in the beginning of our relationship…" he trailed off, a small shiver stealing through him as he revisited painful memories.

"Yeah, Sherlock mentioned that they were taught how to handle subs in whatever messed up school they went to," John put in. Greg nodded before taking another sip of his drink. "Okay, so they want us to be happy, but what about societal expectations? I mean, it seems like I'm suppose to refer back to Sherlock on everything I do. It feels like I have no rights of my own." John gave the DI a pleading look, begging him to prove him wrong.

Greg frowned though. "It is true that society expects you to be meek and subservient. As you can tell though," he gestured to himself at this. "Not everyone does. By normal submissive standards, I am far outside the box being a detective inspector. But it works with our relationship. I am not a reserved person as I'm sure you've noticed, and yet I am the submissive in the relationship because that's the way the hormones ran." He shrugged.

"So, I could still be a doctor?" John could feel his hopes rising.

Greg nodded. "In theory, yes. However it depends on the hospital and how reluctant Sherlock is."

"But I thought you just said…"  
"You may be able to win him over and convince him to let you, but that doesn't mean he'll be happy about it. Trust me, if that is the situation you'll be able to tell when he's upset. It spreads across the bond and makes _you_ more upset and irritable."

"Bloody hell," John leaned back, his drink sloshing around and almost spilling with the jolt.

Greg gave him a sympathetic look before asking, "So how are you and Sherlock getting on? Really?"

John frowned a bit as he thought about how to answer. "We're improving," he replied finally. "I still don't feel like we're in an actual relationship though. It feels like a temporary insanity truth be told. Like it'll end soon. But then I remember what he's like when I even go upstairs to my own room." John let out a sigh before continuing. "He follows me around and occasionally I'll wake up to him sitting on my bed just staring at me. Even just coming here I had to remind him that it was you I was meeting and that it wouldn't be very long. And he still felt the need to mark me," he gestured to the bruise on his throat.

Greg nodded and leaned forward. "Look, I need to tell you something that not all subs know. Mycroft would probably kill me if he knew I was going to tell you, but I think you have the right to know."

John leaned forward as well, but was surprised when Greg rose leaving his drink on the table and indicated for John to follow him. The blond man quickly followed suit and followed Greg towards the men's room. A confused look crossed his face as he entered and Greg turned on all of the taps before standing in the middle of the room. There was no one else besides them thankfully. "What's this about?" John asked pointing towards the taps.

"Mycroft has ears and eyes everywhere. However it's illegal to have cameras in the loo. The water helps cover up our voices."

"Alright, what's so important?" John crossed his arms and eyed Greg speculatively.

Greg took in a deep breath before continuing. "It's about your attraction to Sherlock. And before you question me, I'm just telling you what I know!" he rushed. "When a bond is first formed between a Dom and a sub, there is an excretion of hormones between the two. The hormones make you want to stay near each other, and the thing is the longer you spend with your mate the more addictive they become."

John was silent for a long minute staring at Greg. Finally his mouth fell open, but nothing came out. He tried again. "What you're saying is… that what I'm feeling isn't real? That it's the bond forcing me to like Sherlock?"

Greg held up his hands in surrender. "I honestly don't know. I haven't been around you two enough to help you there. All I know is that had I known this information after I was first bonded, I probably would have taken off. The bond can be broken more easily when it's newer. I'm not saying it isn't difficult, but it's doable."

"So, if my feelings weren't real… if it was just the bond and I left Sherlock, I would start to feel like I did before meeting him?"

Greg nodded. "You'd still be a werewolf of course, and a submissive one at that. That won't change. And frankly it might be more dangerous because submissives are more susceptible to being compelled, but yeah. You'd go back to being normal John Watson who's a GP at the local clinic."

John found himself leaning back against one of the sinks. His mind was rushing with this new information and how he should treat it. Should he leave Sherlock? Would he be able to? What if something happened like that other Dom in the park? John mentally shook himself. He'd always been able to manage himself before, why not now? There were a few other factors to consider, but he would still be able to defend himself, wouldn't he?

"John?" Greg was suddenly closer to him. John wondered how long he'd been thinking.

"Yeah, sorry. Just a lot to think about."

Greg nodded and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I just thought you deserved to know."

"Yeah, thanks, mate," John smiled back before following Greg back out of the toilet after shutting the taps off.

"Look, I've got to get going. Mycroft is expecting me. Promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay?"

John shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, just be careful, John."

John nodded once and watched Greg leave. Their glasses had been cleared from the table in their absence and John didn't want to get another drink by himself so he made his way towards the exit as well. He walked slowly, his thoughts tumbling over themselves as he tried to sort things out. Odd how he came to meet with Lestrade to clear some things up and ended up leaving more confused than before.

Looking up, he noticed that he'd managed to get to Marylbone Road. Home was only another block or so, but the Baker Street tube line was right there. A strange kind of chill ran through John as he stood on the corner of the street staring at the entrance to the Underground. It would be so easy. Just hop on the tube to Euston then take the train to Holyhead where he could get out of England and across the Irish Sea to Dublin where he could fly anywhere he wanted. He had his debit card. All he had to do was take as much as he could from a cash point and leave. He didn't have his passport, but finding the right people and bribing wasn't that difficult. So easy…

A small tugging in his chest tried to remind him of what it had felt like to be snogged by Sherlock before he'd left. But then he had to reprimand himself that it was possible to have only been the hormones from the bond. What he felt for Sherlock could be a lie.

"Sir?" a voice called out right next to him.

John startled and looked to his right to see a tall man with reddish brown hair and a muscular build. He had a faint scar crossing over one eye that faded into his cheek. "Yes?"

"Are you alright? Been standing here for quite a while. I wouldn't have noticed, but I'm waiting for my ride anyway," the man said.

"No, I'm… I'm fine. Thanks though… er…"

"Seb," the man supplied.

"Right… um, thanks. I'll just be going then."

Seb nodded and watched as John crossed Marylbone Road and entered the Baker Street tube station. A smile crossed his face and he pulled out a mobile from his pocket and fired off a text message. _He's running – SM_

A reply pinged back a few seconds later: _Excellent. Keep an eye on him. – JM_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry to leave you with a bit of a cliff hanger, but OOOH! It gets interesting! lol... I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I've actually been planning it since before chapter 4. Also, fun fact! Purl is an actual bar not too far from Baker Street. You can Google it! Though if you try to do Google street view, be warned that only the sign for the bar is there because it's underground. Still pretty cool though.

Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 10: The Proposal**

Sherlock was laying on the sofa, his hands clenched in fists and four nicotine patches on his left arm. John had been gone for close to three hours now and it was taking everything Sherlock had to not go after him. How long did it take to go out for drinks? Honestly?

His mobile buzzed on the coffee table, insistent and annoying. It had already buzzed a few other times, but Sherlock had ignored it after checking to see that it wasn't John. It hadn't been, only messages from Mycroft that had been deleted before being looked at. The same happened to this message. However a moment later his mobile buzzed to life again, this time with a call. Sighing, he grabbed the offending device and pressed answer. "What is it?"

"It would be beneficial for you to answer you mobile every now and then, brother mine."

"I don't have time for a lecture, Mycroft, what do you want?"

"Just thought I should let you know that your mate entered the tube station at Baker Street and was seen getting off at Euston a few minutes later. It doesn't take a genius to know what he's up to."

Sherlock was off the couch and through the door before Mycroft had stopped talking. It normally took about twenty-five minutes to reach Euston station by foot. Sherlock made it in ten. He received more than a few odd looks considering he was in his pyjamas and silk robe still, but was largely ignored as he quickly made his way through the crowd to the platform where the next train to Holyhead would be departing, if it hadn't already. His eyes roamed from one side of the station to the other, looking for a blond and grey head that was slightly shorter than most of the others.

Finally, the consulting detective looked up at the departure board and a growl escaped his lips. The train for Holyhead had left five minutes ago. "NO!" Sherlock shouted. Several startled people edged away from him and one of the security guards was giving him curious looks. Sherlock ignored them all though and turned sharply towards the exit, his mobile already in his hand.

"I could have told you that you'd miss him, if only you'd listen," Mycroft grumbled.

"I need transport," Sherlock growled making his way toward the exit.

"You'll owe me, Sherlock."

"I don't care. Just get me to Liverpool before John's train pulls in."

"A car will be waiting for you in twenty minutes," Mycroft replied before hanging up.

Sherlock raced back up the stairs to the surface and ran back 221b. John Watson was going to be in trouble.

* * *

John sighed as he leaned back against his seat. His heart was pounding and his hands were still clenched tightly into fists. As he'd boarded the train, every inch of him had wanted to turn around and go back to Sherlock, but he'd fought it and instead he was now in a seat on the train headed to Holyhead. There were few others in the car with him, and most of them were in the seats farther up, but this didn't bother John at all. In fact, he'd chosen the least populated car on purpose. He doubted that anyone would recognize him as a submissive werewolf unless they themselves were werewolves. And the likelihood of that was slim. While in the past few weeks he'd been exposed to quite a few lycanthropes, the reality remained that less than an eighth of the population of Great Britain were werewolves. John was unlikely to meet another wolf unless he went out of his way to do so.

The blond man looked out the window and watched as London slipped away. It would take about two hours before he would have to switch trains at Liverpool and then another couple of hours to Holyhead. During that time, all he could do was wait and think. Like where to go after he reached Dublin? He'd have to give it some thought, but he was set on the continent at least. It would be easier to get into one of the smaller countries there rather than try to make it to America.

John was just thinking about the possibilities of Switzerland when a cool hand wrapped around the back of his neck. He stiffened and jerked, but the hand held on. Looking back, he saw the man from the park who had tried to compel him. "What…?" he trailed off.

"Scoot over," the man ordered, and John felt himself immediately moving over into the window seat so that the man could sit beside him. The cold hand moved from his neck down to his knee.

"What are you doing? Stop touch…"  
"Silence," the man commanded and John's mouth snapped shut. "Good, now you will not shout or make any indication that you need help. Nor will you leave this spot until I say. You may respond to the questions I ask and ask your own questions."

John felt the compellation to keep his mouth shut break, but when he went to stand up and leave, he couldn't. It was like someone cut the controls from his brain to his muscles. "Who are you?" he finally asked, looking at the man and taking in the fine bespoke suit.

"James Moriarty," the man smiled. "And you're John Watson, submissive werewolf and mate of one Sherlock Holmes. Though not for long."

"What do you mean?"

"You ran," Moriarty said simply. "It is common knowledge that when a submissive werewolf runs, he's fair game to any Dominant who wishes to claim him." The man's hand squeezed John's knee possessively.

John reached over and gripped the man's wrist. "I know of five different ways to break your wrist just from this grip alone. I'd recommend removing your hand. Moriarty smiled with amusement before releasing his grip on John's knee. With a sigh, John continued, "I don't want to be your submissive or anyone else's for that matter!"

The man smirked. "It's quite amusing that you think you have a say in any of this. The submissive's wishes are not considered valid against the wishes of his Dominant."

"I'm not your submissive," John argued.

"Not yet."

John glared at the dark haired man. "How did you know where I'd be?" he finally asked.

"Because I set it up," the man grinned. "It was all rather simple really. Mycroft Holmes lets his submissive alone for far too long. It was an easy task to walk into Detective Inspector Lestrade's office and compel him to tell you about the bond strengthening and addiction."

John straightened in shock. "Was any of it true then? What Lestrade said?"

"Yes, everything he said was true. Though most Doms don't like their subs to know as it increases risk of them running."

"And why did you want me to run?" John asked after a moment.

"Oh very good, Johnny-boy!" the man said betraying an Irish accent. "I wanted you to run so that I could get the measure of Sherlock Holmes. If you want to know a man, threaten his mate."

"Then I'm just a pawn in all this?" John asked indignantly.

"But such a lovely pawn," Moriarty smirked as he leaned close to John and breathed in his scent.

The former army doctor shivered and leaned away. "I'd prefer if you didn't do that, thanks."

"And I don't really care what you'd prefer," Moriarty snapped.

John frowned, but didn't say anything. He turned away to look out the window and the countryside flashing by. After a minute or so he felt the man's hand return to his knee. "Move your hand," John growled.

Moriarty did as asked, though not quite as expected. The hand began traveling upward until it rested on John's upper thigh. "I could take you right now and steal you away from Sherlock. He would never find you again," the dark haired man breathed into John's ear.

Once again, John shivered at the closeness of the man. "Why are you doing this? What's the point?"

"I'm bored, Johnny-boy. And Sherlock is the only one who can possibly keep up with me. However he's found a little pet to keep him occupied and I thought I would see what he finds so interesting in you."

"I'm not his pet," John grumbled.

Moriarty let out a small chuckle. "But of course you are! What else would you call it when an intellectually superior being takes an interest and takes in an intellectually inferior being? You are his pet, John Watson, nothing more."

John shivered and leaned away from the man, but he didn't have very far to go. The window met his back shortly and Moriarty smiled before he leaned into John and whispered in his ear. "And now you are mine." The dark haired man pressed his lips to John's harshly, demanding.

However John reacted almost immediately and shoved the Irish werewolf back forcefully. Moriarty growled, but didn't press forward again. "Do that again, and I'll do more than just shove you," John hissed.

Moriarty merely smirked, but kept to his own seat. He leaned back; his hands in his own lap now. John watched as the man slowly twiddled his thumbs around each other. "I'm going to make you a deal, John," he said slowly, annunciating carefully, still not looking at John. "You willingly come with me…"

"No," John interrupted.

Moriarty lifted his head to glare at John. If looks could kill, John would be dead several times over. "Let me finish, Johnny-boy," he said, and John could sense a hint of danger in the man's flat voice.

"As I was saying…" he had shifted now so that he was looking at John, hands in his lap, and one leg crossed over the other. "You willingly come with me for a week, and I won't kill your mate."

John's brow furrowed and he shifted himself slightly so that he was facing Moriarty. "Why?" he frowned. "I'm assuming that a week is long enough to break the bond, but why would you want to do that? If you wanted to take me as your own mate, you could just do it here and now."

Moriarty smiled crookedly. "You're not as dumb as you look, Johnny-boy. I must give you credit for that."

"I _do_ have a medical degree, you know," John grumbled.

Moriarty merely continued to smile, not acknowledging John's words. "True, it does take about that long for a new bond to break. And no, I'm not going to mate you right now because that wouldn't be any fun! In case you hadn't noticed, I like a challenge, Johnny-boy, and you seem to present a decent enough one." Moriarty paused for a moment to rake his eyes down John's torso before coming back up to meet his confused gaze.

"The bond between mates is stronger if the two werewolves involved like each other before performing the bonding bite," he said after a moment.

John's eyes widened. "So you want to make me like you so that we'll have a strong bond? Why?"

"I find you interesting, Johnny. It's not everyday you meet a submissive with such an apparent dominant streak. You amuse me." The gaze that he set on John was calm and calculating. It seemed to bore right through the army doctor with ease, making John feel like naked.

"And if I don't go with you?"

"Then Sherlock Holmes' life is forfeit. I'd really hate to kill him off so soon, but if it needs to be done," he shrugged as though it was only the weather he was talking about.

John swallowed and stared hard at the man. He was so nonchalant and uncaring. If he agreed to this proposal, he would become this man's mate. However if he refused, then Sherlock would die. A gaping hole opened up in his stomach at the thought and even if it were just hormones and the bond controlling his emotions, he still didn't want an innocent man to die. Wetting his lips with his tongue, John looked down at his clenched hands for a moment before looking back up at Moriarty. "I'll do it," he said quietly.

Moriarty smiled widely. "Excellent. I'll begin making the arrangements."

With that, he pulled out his mobile and began tapping away at the screen while John sighed and looked back out the window. At least Sherlock would be safe.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize for updating later in the day. This week has been completely off. I thought yesterday was Thursday, and I thought today was Tuesday! I have a 30 presentation to do tomorrow and a recording to do in Spanish due today and tutoring in ESL to do tomorrow! Been a long week and it's only in the middle... *sigh*

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I know a lot of you are really not liking John's decision to run. However may I remind you that John is an independent man who (in my world) had a stable job and friends that he was taken away from when Sherlock bonded with him. John never wanted the bond. He was forced into it. So of course he's going to run if given the chance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Fog  
by: Ismira Daugene**

**Chapter 11: The East Entrance**

"You'll be well accommodated, I can assure you. It won't be nearly as bad as Baker Street." James Moriarty was typing away on his mobile still as he sat cross-legged next to John on the train to Holyhead.

"I like 221," John grumbled, but Moriarty ignored him.

"I don't expect you to like it immediately, but I do hope you'll realize the trouble you're causing me."

"Trouble? If you'd just leave me alone, there wouldn't be any trouble at all!"

Moriarty put his mobile down for a moment and looked up at John from under his eyelashes. "Now Johnny-boy, is that anyway to speak to the man who's essentially taking you in?"

"I don't want to be taken in!" John nearly shouted and a few of the other passengers looked back at them in concern.

Moriarty's eyebrows furrowed. "You will keep your voice down, John," he ordered and John felt the compellation wash over him with a shiver. The angry look melted away though and the next thing John knew, Moriarty was smiling again as he leaned close and took in John's scent again. The man had been doing that periodically as if to ingrain the scent into his memory by repeated exposure and John leaned away just as he'd done every other time.

When Moriarty leaned back into his own space and continued typing on his mobile, John sighed and looked back out the window. The countryside had given way to suburbs indicating that they were getting close to Liverpool where they would switch trains. John sat up straighter in anticipation as the train slowed. The station was just ahead and if he did this right, he could make an escape attempt. He would have to wait until Moriarty released him from his seat and until they reached the platform. The Irish man slipped his mobile back into his pocket and looked up then, frowning. His dark eyes examined the platform as the train rolled in. His mobile was back in his hand and pressed to his ear in less time than it took for the train to come to a halt. "He's not as slow as I thought. You'll need to get into position quickly." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "Make sure the car is pulled up outside the east entrance."

With that he tucked the phone away and turned to John with a frown. "Your mate is extremely irritating, did you know?"

The former army doctor's eyebrows rose. Sherlock was here? Despite the fact that Sherlock had kidnapped him in the first place, John would much rather be with the devil he knew than the man sitting beside him now. However John should've known better than to get his hopes up. Moriarty turned to him as the train screeched to a halt. "You will not leave my side nor will your hand leave mine," he compelled John as he took hold of his left hand with his right tightly. "Stand up," he directed, and John felt the compellation to sit lift. He rose to his feet, rubbing at his achy lower back.

A minute later, they were exiting the train. John craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Sherlock, but he saw nothing except for the confusing jumble of people exiting and entering the platform. Moriarty's grip on his hand tightened then and the man pulled John toward a crowded area that was moving toward one of the exits. John tried to pull away, hoping he could get lost in the crowd, but the second his fingers loosened and he started to tug away a sharp pain ricocheted up his spine and into the back of his head. The blond man squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled to a halt. He almost went down to his knees, but he renewed his grip on Moriarty's hand and the pain immediately started to melt away. A second later, he looked up to see an annoyed Moriarty looking back at him. "That was very stupid, Johnny," he hissed. "Though I doubt you'll be doing it again after that. Come."

With that they continued toward the exit. John kept an eye out for a tall man with messy black curls, but didn't see anyone. Instead, they reached the east exit unmolested. However the next moment, everything turned to chaos. John and Moriarty had just stepped outside the train station when a balding man in a three piece suit and a brolly sauntered up to them. John's eyes widened as he recognized the man as being Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. "Evening John," he said smiling pleasantly. "And you are Mr. James Moriarty, if my information is correct."

Moriarty halted in his tracks at the sight of the man. Mycroft was standing nonchalantly leaning on his brolly, but Moriarty had stiffened as though a dozen snipers were suddenly targeting him. John swallowed dryly as he looked around. Knowing Mycroft, there was a distinct possibility that there _were_ a dozen snipers situated around them. "Mycroft Holmes, the iceman," Moriarty replied after a moment. "I must say that you've surprised me."

Mycroft smiled, though John could tell it was false. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should! Not many are able to do so," Moriarty remarked. "Though I'm afraid you can't have what you came here to get."

"I don't see that you have many other options _but_ to give me what I came here for."

Moriarty cocked his head to the side and a menacing smile crossed his lips. "Don't you?" He slowly raised the hand not holding John's until it was just higher than his head then snapped his fingers. A muffled shot rang out that had John not been in the army he wouldn't have recognized it as a sniper's rifle. Mycroft frowned as he held a hand up to his ear. "One down, five to go, Iceman. It's your call. Either you make way for us, or your team is annihilated."

"That's not how this works, James."

Moriarty snapped his fingers again and another muffled shot could be heard. John flinched, but otherwise didn't move. "Four left," Moriarty sing-songed. "What'll it be?"

"What are your intentions with Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asked and John could tell it was a bid to stall time.

Moriarty's grin grew wider. "That would be telling," he chimed in a falsetto voice. "But I'm sure you can guess. They say that the Iceman is even better than his brother at the guessing game."

Mycroft straightened and rested the umbrella in front of him now, both hands on the handle, but still a neutral expression on his face. John was starting to see why Moriarty called him the Iceman. "You want to make John your own mate," Mycroft stated. "You want Sherlock's attention because he's the only person intelligent enough to play your games and have a chance at succeeding, so you're stealing his mate to garner it. I would have thought that beneath you frankly, seeing as how submissives are only pets to you."

"Never underestimate a Dominant's attachment to their mate," Moriarty smirked.

"Yes, what I haven't figured out yet is why you want to mate with John instead of just breaking the bond? Is emotion clouding your judgment? Or are you more ignorant than I thought? Afterall, a mate, as you're so efficiently proving, creates a weak spot in any Dominant."

Moriarty frowned. "Yes yours was particularly weak when it came to being compelled. Wasn't even a challenge really. I could have told him _anything_."

For the first time since the exchange had started, Mycroft showed emotion. A frown blackened his features and his knuckles turned white as his hands tightened on the umbrella handle. "Ah ha! Finally, the ice breaks!" Moriarty crowed and his hand tightened for a moment around John's. "You see, you let your submissive have far too much power over himself. I don't plan to make that mistake. Provide the right orders and a submissive will never want to leave you or speak ill of you. They'll always be exactly where they're supposed to be… on their knees waiting for their Dominant."

John shivered as he looked at Moriarty's expression. It was terrifying. Not just because of the menacing grin, but because he meant every single word he said. If John became this man's mate his future would involve no freedom whatsoever and probably more pain and suffering than he'd every endured in the army when he'd been taken prisoner. John's gaze went down to his hand wrapped in Moriarty's. An idea began to slowly formulate in this head, but it couldn't be rushed. He needed a moment to work out the details because if he succeeded, then he wasn't going to be in any shape to do any thinking afterwards.

"Speaking of Dominants, where is little Sherlock anyway. Didn't think he'd trust his brother to come after his submissive," Moriarty asked not taking his eyes off of Mycroft.

"Just waiting for you to finish insulting each other," a familiar baritone sounded from behind them. John whipped his head around to see Sherlock standing in the entrance to the train station with his hands tucked in his Belfast coat and the usual navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned so that he was standing sideways between the Holmes brothers. "Really, Sherlock? You're quite translucent. You should work on that. Daddy likes a challenge."

"Let him go," Sherlock ordered.

Moriarty smiled sadistically and held up the hand that was clenched tightly around John's. "Okay," he sing-songed and let go.

John crumpled in pain, his hand automatically searching to reconnect with the Dominant werewolf. Lightening shot up and down his spine and rattled around his brain until his fingertips found Moriarty's palm again. However this time the pain lingered, etching pathways in this body as though to remind him that he shouldn't do that. Nausea curled in his stomach and he wrapped a hand around his middle as he stood back up. Looking up, John could see how difficult it was for Sherlock to stay still. He nodded his head subtly to let Sherlock know that he was okay.

"You're wasting my time, the both of you," Moriarty growled and John heard another snap quickly followed by another muffled shot. "Eventually there won't be anymore of your men to shoot and then who do you suppose will be next?"

"Enough of this!" Sherlock snapped. "You only want him because I already have him!"

"OF COURSE I DO!" Moriarty bellowed and several people on the street jumped and moved away from them. "But that isn't all. Johnny-boy and I have formed a special kind of bond during the train ride. Haven't we, Johnny?"

John slowly shook his head, still panting from the pain earlier. "You're mad," he muttered.

Moriarty let out a giggle at this, "Of course I am! But that's why you all love me so, isn't it?" At this he snapped his fingers once again. The shot sounded closer this time and a couple of people on the street nearby looked around worriedly. "That's only two more left, I believe," Moriarty quipped. "Now, in an effort to save you some paperwork and phone calls to widows, I'm going to take Doctor Watson here to my car right over there and neither you nor your brother will stop me. Do I make myself clear?" Moriarty directed this towards Mycroft. "If a bullet finds me from one of your remaining team members, you can guarantee that one will find Johnny-boy too."

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock said anything, so Moriarty began walking toward a black sedan parked fifteen feet away. John shook his head towards Sherlock when the consulting detective made a move to follow. Instead, John followed meekly with his hand still in Moriarty's grasp. They reached the car that was already running and waiting to go and Moriarty opened the back door. Before he could say anything though, John reached up with his free hand and quickly grasped Moriarty's head and brought it forward to meet the edge of the door. The man slumped down in a heap and several startled people gasped and or screamed.

The driver turned in his seat, a gun in his hand, but John was already out of the line of fire. Taking a deep breath, he let go of Moriarty's hand and started to run back to Sherlock. However two things happened at the nearly same time. The first was the pain from letting go of Moriarty's hand. The second was a numb feeling that spread down his arm and a hot wet feeling that was spreading down the back of his shoulder. He went down to the ground, flailing and trying to land with the least amount of damage, but his hands and forearms scrapped against the tarmac anyway and he winced. Bile rose in the back of his throat and blackness covered his vision as he squeezed his eyes shut.

There was so much pain! Everything else had been drowned out by it. He could distantly hear Mycroft yelling something and could faintly feel ghostly touches and his name being called softly. However anything beyond that was gone. There was only pain in this world. Pain, nausea, and fear. He was going to die. That was the only option. John didn't see how this could end any other way. There was too much pain, too much! And he'd realized finally that the warm wetness soaking through the back of his jacket and shirt was blood. This would be it. He hoped distantly, that they would put H instead of Hamish on his tombstone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I would just like to start by apologizing for missing my update last week. It was midterms for us and I've had a pretty heavy workload from school. However it's spring break now and I'm happy to update for you and start working on the next chapter!

Secondly, we're rounding off towards the end. It's most likely going to be the next chapter. Unless something happens and the characters go on a rampage in my word document... Anyway, I hope that you have enjoyed this story! And I hope that you will want to read more of my works! I'll most likely be taking a small break from writing after this so that I can catch up with school work. The second half of term is going to be even more rocky than the first because of projects galore and trying to figure out what classes to take next fall! AND to top it all off, I plan on doing a semester abroad in the spring of 2015! So time to plan for that as well.

Thanks again for reading, and stay tuned for the conclusion next chapter!


End file.
